


Knight Unexpected

by marcorooniandcheese



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional hurt / comfort, Family, Friendship, M/M, Minor Violence, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, basically toris is going to be going through a lot of stuff. put on your seat belts, eduard and raivis are precious and need to be protected at all costs, feliks is a prince and toris is a knight, ivan is a dick (but you'll see why later), toris has a lot of baggage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 19:49:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16729629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcorooniandcheese/pseuds/marcorooniandcheese
Summary: After escaping a cruel captivity, Toris Laurinaitis never believed he would be a great man. But when a series of unusual circumstances leads him to become the personal knight of the crown prince of Pospolita, Feliks Łukasiewicz, the prince insists otherwise. And, well... when faced with that, Toris starts to think that maybe - just maybe - there may be some hope for him. [Human fantasy AU. Reboot.]





	1. Prologue (Part One)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! It's NC! I'm so excited to be back in the fic writing community. I'm even more excited to announce that after one year, my baby is finally ready: Knight Unexpected's official reboot.
> 
> Yup, you read right! Knight Unexpected 2.0 is officially in development!
> 
> But that's enough of my rambling for now. You can read more about what's gonna happen with this fic and the changes from the first draft in my author's note at the end of this chapter. For now, just sit back and enjoy the beginning of the story I've been carefully cultivating for three years now.
> 
> (This fic has been cross posted to fanfiction.net under the username marcorooni.)
> 
> ___
> 
> This fic is dedicated to all of the people who have hurt me and all of the people I have hurt.
> 
> May we all learn to become better and brighter.
> 
> ___

 

"Weź to serce, wyjdź na drogę.

I nie pytaj się "Dlaczego?""

"Take this heart and go to the road,

And don't ask "Why?""

-Serce, Marek Grechuta

"Have you ever loved enough to destroy your love?"

-We Are Gods! We Are Wolves!, Le Loup

* * *

_Prologue (Part One)._

His foot slips on the rain-slicked ground, and for a moment, he is suspended in air. His arm is outstretched, hand extended gracefully like Natalya's whenever she danced her favorite light, airy ballet. Slowly, he glides forward, propelled by his other foot, and for once… He is at peace. A deep stillness has settled inside him, like sucking in a breath.

He is a bird. He is still. He is floating in the air untouchable, free from all men with sharp iron smiles and veiny white hands.

Here, he just  _is_. He can just be. Away from any worry, any stress, any harm.

The thought comforts him.

He closes his eyes.

 _Rest,_  his body murmurs.

_Forget._

But then…

Something wet and stinging hits his eyelids.

He opens his eyes.

And up ahead, past the sheets of pinprick rain, he sees his brothers.

In slow motion they turn back to him, their eyes large and white with fear.

"TORIS!"

They launch themselves towards him.

His eyebrows furrow.

 _What's wrong?_  He wants to ask.  _Why are you so afraid? There's nothing to be afraid of here. I'm fine, you two. It's okay. Just keep running. Running and running and running, far, far away from this place. Just keep going, okay? I'll follow after you, don't worry. I'm fine. Just keep running._

_Running ..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_But._

_Why are they running in the first place?_

_Why are_ we _running in the first place?_

And then he feels it.

His ankle.

The bone.

Shredding through muscle, piercing through skin, twisting and mangling his flesh into a bloody pulp that stings in the rain.

He extends his hand forward towards Eduard and Raivis, grasping for air, grasping for them, grasping for the peace he felt just moments before -

He falls.

His face slams onto the gray cobblestone, smearing blood and flesh and bone into the puddles.

The world rings loudly. Bits of light flash before his eyes. A ragged cry of pain escapes his mouth, broken and raw. The stillness he held inside - gone, punched out of his stomach, drowned by a heavy, choking panic. He tries to heave himself up to breathe, to keep moving– but the lights are too bright and his arms are too shaky and so he falls back onto the cobblestone, wheezing, clawing at the stone with bleeding fingers. He tries to move his foot, to find purchase on the ground - but his ankle sends a flood of white, red hot pain through his body, pain so bad it nearly makes him sob.

The hurt – the panic – the need to  _getthemawaybeforehekillsthemjustgetthemaway_  –

Toris remembers.

_He's following us._

"Toris!"

Eduard and Raivis crouch next to him, one on each side. With trembling hands, they roll him onto his side — Toris bites back a strangled cry, burning — so he's staring at the soles of Eduard's ruined shoes. Toris forces himself to focus on Eduard's face, on his brother's bright, cornflower blue eyes, but there's too much fear in them, too much too much  _too much_ , and he almost vomits, almost retches in on himself at the sight of it.

"Toris, get up!" Raivis's shaking voice. "You have to get up! Come on, come on – Ivan Zimavich is behind us!"

A sharp breath just at  _thatname_  - Toris nods frantically. "Okay," he gasps, "okay." A deep breath, a steely tense. He tries to stand. But the sudden movement forces bone through flesh, ripping through muscle – and he collapses back to the ground, hissing.

Everything burns. His head, his body, his ankle. He can't breathe from the suffocating pain of it all. All of his body screams in agony.

All of his body is dying.

… Dying.

...

To die is to leave.

To die is to rest.

To die is to abandon this life for another far away, another life where he can float and float like he did before.

To die …

To die would be nice.

He could float forever, float in a land where good mothers never left and bad men never stayed —

But to die would be to leave his brothers.

And to die would be to leave them with  _that man_.

And he can't do that. Not now. Not when they need him.

Not now.

Not ever.

So Toris bites down on his lip and heaves himself off of the pavement.

He heaves himself up again and again. While Eduard whispers words of encouragement and tries to lifts his shoulders, and Raivis yelps that he can hear Ivan Zimavich's footsteps in the distance, Toris tries. He thinks of his memories of them. Of all of them, playing in the wheat fields when they were very young. He hauls his upper body up, brushes his hair out of his eyes, and he thinks of when he carried Eduard on his shoulders so the bright-eyed boy could look closer at the leaves on the trees. He grounds himself with his good foot, and he thinks of Raivis and him running far away, throwing up dirt from their heels, their laughter ringing through the fields. He holds onto Eduard's shoulder. And with every ounce of strength he has in him, with every ounce of love, against the cold rain and the tearing bone and the bubbling hot heat in his leg, he  _tries_.

He tries for  _them_.

But every time he tries to move his legs, his ankle howls in pain and he is forced down, sweating, suppressing a sob.

It isn't enough.

The next time Toris tries, he has barely lifted his chest off the ground before the pain punches him down, slamming his chin against stone. Blood spills from the newly formed gash, and his body trembles. He can't hear his heartbeat over the sound of his ragged gasps for air.

Raivis pokes at his shoulder, and Eduard whispers encouragement under his breath — you can do it, Toris, you  _can_  — but Toris scoots away from both of them, biting down on his lip. They don't need to see him like this. They don't need to see him so weak.

He can't walk in this condition. He knows he can't. Even if he could, he would only slow them down. And in this weather, with these circumstances —

To slow down would be death. That man would drag all three of them back to the mansion with his hands around their necks. He would never let them out. They would die while the rest of the world would go on turning, turning, turning – and that man would smile. He would smile, satisfied in the knowledge that he won against them. That he won against Toris Laurinaitis, his darling "knight", the one who forced himself and his two naive brothers into this situation.

 _That man_  would smile and pet Toris's hair and  _runhisfingersdownhisback_ , and…

And his brothers would huddle in the other room while Toris muffled his sobs, and…

They would be huddled in the other room.

Away from this. Away from  _everything_. They would be protected while he would be the only one who suffered.

They would be  _protected_.

...

And suddenly...

He knows what to do.

With a burst of energy, Toris forces one arm off the ground and yanks Eduard's frayed collar down to him. His brother almost stumbles - but gods bless him, he keeps his composure and grounds himself. Eduard looks at him, his face fraught with worry lines not meant for a boy his age.

His hands reach for Toris's shoulders – but Toris swats them away before they can touch him. Toris looks straight into Eduard's blue eyes, memorizing them, reading them. Remembering them.

"Eduard. Listen to me. Take Raivis and run as fast as you can.  _Now._ "

It takes a moment for his words to settle in, but when they do, Eduard's face churns like it's been punched.

"Toris, what are you –"

" _GO!_ " Toris shouts.

He pushes Eduard away, hard. The boy falls onto the street.

Tears pool at the corners of Eduard's eyes - and Toris's, too. But he blinks the tears away and scatters them onto the road with the falling rain. His heart  _aches_  – but he has to be strong. He has never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

If he isn't strong for them, they'll never make it out of this hell. They'll never be strong for themselves — and at the end of the day, that's all that matters.

"Toris!" Raivis cries. "H-how could you do that to Eduard? Eddie, are you okay?" Eduard gives a single, stiff nod. "P-please get up!" Raivis stands, and after he pulls Eduard up, he tries to yank Toris up, too, clutching at his closed fists and then his shoulder. "What are you saying? You're coming with us! We're not leaving you! We're not!" He shrieks. "Eduard, help me! Toris is hurt r-really badly – we need to get out of here, now!"

And Toris almost breaks.

He wants so, so badly to gather them into his arms, to press his lips to their foreheads and tell them that everything will be okay, just like he did when they were young children who didn't know any better. But he doesn't have that luxury right now.  _They_  don't have that luxury right now. So he braces himself and looks into Raivis's honey brown eyes.

"Raivis – Raivis, listen to me, little one. You have to run. You have to run away from here and never come back, okay? Don't worry about me or about anyone else in this city. Just run – run far, far away. Don't stay still. Don't pause for anyone. Just run, you hear me? Run!" Raivis moves closer to him, shaking his head, lips moving in a silent plea, and as much as it aches – Toris pushes him away so that he stumbles back towards Eduard. Eduard wraps an arm around Raivis, bringing the younger, teary-eyed boy close to his chest. "Run as fast as you can and never come back!"

"NO!" Raivis shrieks. Tears stream down his face. Eduard stands up, but Raivis claws at his brother's chest hard, struggles so violently that he almost falls over, and Eduard— Eduard, Toris's smart, capable younger brother holds Raivis tight, tight, tight, ignores tears of his own to wipe away Raivis's, and Toris— Toris chokes back a  _sob_. "I won't leave you, I won't,  _I WON'T –_ "

"Eduard, take him and  _run as fast as you can –_  "

But then, out of the alleyway they left behind –

He sees it.

Coming out with a metal pipe and some leather boots and a fanged smile –

A man.

A man with white hair.

No.

No,  _no._

_NonononoNO –_

_Thatman –_

_NONONONO **NO**_   _—_

Ankle screaming in agony— body, breaking— even so, Toris hauls himself up and stands in front of Raivis and Eduard, stretching his arms to shield them, head going fuzzy, legs screaming – screaming –

_Breath – breath - **BREATHE -**_

" _YOU TWO, RUN!_ "

That man smiles. A scrape of knife against flesh.

He raises his pipe. He takes a step forward. He tears open his blood red mouth to speak, and it sounds like organs slipping across metal.

"Don't be so scared, Torenka. It's only me."

The panic eats him alive.

Toris needs to distract  _thatman_  – just long enough for them to get away because - because -

God, if they died – if they fell to this man – the man that Toris promised he would protect them from – the man  _makinghiswaytowardsthem_  –

He would never forgive himself—

But if he died — if he fell to this man – if he died cold and alone on this empty city street so that his brothers could live happily far, far away?

If he died for  _them?_

…

It wouldn't be the worst way to die.

He raises his fists. He thinks about Eduard and his bright blue eyes — he thinks of Raivis with his rosy cheeks — he thinks of them smiling, laughing,  _living._

Toris doesn't know what it is. Maybe it's the anxiety, or maybe it's the proximity to death, or maybe it's the realization that nothing, nothing he can do right now will work. But either way - the deep, deep peace he felt before finds its way back to him, settling deep in his heart. He extends his fists again, like Natalya with her dancing, and it's at that moment that he realizes what the peace is: it's acceptance.

He is going to die.

He will die, and his brothers will be alive. They will move on to have good lives — to work, to love, to enjoy themselves. They will do all of the bright and shining things he wanted to do but never did. They will live.

And the thought comforts him.

 _That man_  moves to step out of the shadows – Toris squares his shoulders and thinks about where to strike first, where would be the most blinding, where would hurt the most and give his brothers the most time to leave –

When he hears Eduard and Raivis shriek behind him.

He snaps his head around, panicked -

A gold and creamy white carriage led by a great white horse speeds through the wide street, so fast that it is almost just a blur. The carriage driver urges the horse onward, faster, with a strange determination that leaves Toris breathless; the horse whinnies, runs so fast that the sound of its hooves striking against the cobblestone sound like thunderclaps - bell tower tolls. It shakes everything — he almost stumbles.

In the sheets of rain the carriage floats down like a cloud, like something from a dream — and he can't believe it, he can't, no, he can't right now, it can't be a distraction -

Toris turns back to  _that man -_

But he's gone.

Melted into the rain as if he's never been.

 _Wait,_  he wants to say, the anxiety burning through his throat because that man never leaves unfinished business, never,  _wait, **where**  -_

He turns again —

And then he sees.

The carriage drawing to an unsteady halt.

Eduard and Raivis, eyes locked on something at the top of the carriage, their bodies shaking. Toris follows their lines of vision -

And this time, he actually stumbles backwards.

Four golden eagles perch on the four corners of the carriage, proud and graceful. They lift their heavy golden heads towards the sky, looking down at the ground below them as if it's nothing. As if it's insignificant. As if they're better than it.

 _No,_  he thinks.  _No, it can't be. Not here. Not now._

But it is.

They're arrogant, haughty gods, perfect for royalty.

The eagles of the Pospolitan royal family pierce his soul.

Toris stands, thunderstruck.

The horse whinnies again; the carriage driver taps his fist against the wood of the carriage. Toris stares. Stares and stares. And he trembles violently, thinking of all the things that these people could want with him. With his life. With his brothers.

He drags himself towards Eduard and Raivis and draws them close to him, holding them so tightly to his chest that Raivis actually whimpers. "Come on," Toris whispers, "come on, we have to leave  _now_ —"

But before they can even move—

The carriage door opens gently, like a flower petal blooming at dawn.

A black boot steps out softly, feeling the steps of the carriage before allowing its partner to rest next to it. Then a pair of creamy breeches, smoother than the gods' own — a red velvet cape, voluptuous and decadent as rich chocolate cake. And then, lastly — a porcelain face, carved elegantly by the sharpest, finest knife.

The face is crowned with a glowing head of golden hair, shimmering as if circled by a halo.

 _An angel_.

 _No,_  Toris thinks.  _Not an angel. A human._

A prince.

The crown prince of Pospolita.

Feliks Łukasiewicz.

The crown prince steps out of the carriage, and with sharp emerald eyes, he looks at Toris.

He does not look at Eduard. He does not look at Raivis. He does not look at the rain-slicked streets or the gray buildings or the blood trickling in a puddle beneath the brothers' feet, sharp as sin. No.

The crown prince looks at him.

Lowly, insignificant Toris Laurinaitis.

And suddenly, once again, like sucking in a breath —

Toris feels like he is floating.

The crown prince is looking at  _him_.


	2. Prologue (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back again!
> 
> This chapter and the next one were originally supposed to be one big chapter, but it got hella long so I decided to split it into two. Oh, well. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Just a note before we begin: Toris is a very unreliable narrator at this point in time. He's just gotten out of an abusive household. Because of that, his perception of the world is going to be extremely skewed. Please keep that in mind while reading.
> 
> More author's notes to come at the end of the chapter!

_Prologue (Part Two)_

Toris Laurinaitis cannot stop shaking.

His whole body trembles in a small, shuddering way, like the tremors of a mouse or an old creaking clock. Sitting in the carriage, he digs his fingers into his pants - but instead of soothing him it draws more attention to the way his hands refuse to rest easy. So he rests them flat at his sides. Pretends that the shudders are from the bumpiness of the road.

The two guards sitting on both sides of the crown prince eye him intensely and Eduard places a firm hand onto his, but he still cannot stop shaking. Like he's thrown a bad punch that's made him dizzy.

Any minute now, Toris expects the world to fall on fire, to be engulfed by a giant saltwater wave. He expects to drown and die, and wake up back in that same gray-walled mansion like he has every day for the past ten years. Because  _this_ —sitting in an opulent carriage less than one foot away from their crown prince —is so grand that he can only expect it to be fiction.

He shuts his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Prepares himself for white rooms and burnt metal and soulless eyes.

When he wakes up in a gold-gilded carriage, he almost cries.

He's grateful, so grateful that he can't move out of fear of ruining everything. To even  _breathe_ the same air as the crown prince is a privilege greater than anything he will ever deserve.

But.

When he surveys his surroundings - when he looks out of the unfamiliar windows onto the unfamiliar plains -

Toris realizes that there is so much he does not know.

For all he knows, stepping into this carriage could have been a repeat of that night in the alleyway ten years ago, when a white-haired man smiled down at him, offered his hand, and spoke honey-sweetly about a better life in a beautiful white mansion. It could be the dream-like beginning to every nightmare he's ever had - the way the monsters grin at him before they bare their fangs and bite.

And it  _terrifies_ him.

His stomach twists into knots as his body kicks itself into overtime:  _fight or flight! Fight or flight! Fight or flight!_ The anxiety slithers up his veins, bombarding him with a familiar all-consuming chill. Numbing.

If he could, he would press himself onto the floor and sink deep into oblivion, far, far away from his worries.

But Toris knows that he can't afford to lose his wits. If he loses his wits, whatever bad intentions there may be  _win_ — and then they're back at square one, struggling to survive.

Besides - if he's terrified, his sensitive brothers must be  _panicked_. Once glance at a red-cheeked, fidgeting Raivis confirms this.

 _Come on, Toris,_ he tells himself.  _You have to stay strong for them. Keep breathing. Keep going._

It's too early for him to give up, especially at a time like this.

So Toris straightens his back, pushes down the pit in his stomach, and surveys the unfamiliar carriage.

Ornate gilded carvings of eagle heads and flowers decorate the ceiling and backboards. As he follows the flower garden carved above the seats opposite to him, a gathering of polished red poppies catch his eye. Their stems reach out tenderly, curling delicately into oblivion the further down they go. Inevitably, the stems lead down to the backboard of the opposite seats — where the platinum haired guard to the right of the crown prince just so happens to catch Toris's gaze.

The guard's eyes are deep blue and placid, as still as the dark Fjordland lakes. They're oddly serious, almost eerie - and it feels like they're peeling back the layers of Toris's skin, revealing all of the morbid, rotting flesh of him.

As Toris darts his eyes away, he feels incredibly unnerved.

He looks for anything, anything at all to wash that strange encounter out of his palate. He trails the end of the flower garden, and just from the corner of his eye —

He sees the crown prince staring out of a window.

One of the crown prince's delicate, knife-cut cheeks presses against the glass as his green eyes survey the landscape intensely. For what, Toris doesn't know - and as the carriage transitions to riding on smoother roads, he wonders what could be capturing so much of his attention.

The crown prince has not spoken a word to them since they stepped into the carriage. He has only been pressing his face against the glass, waiting or wanting or both.

The lack of attention could mean anything, from disgust to pity to frustration. It could be something vile or it could be something bitter, or it could be something terribly, unimaginably cruel. Thoughts wrap themselves heinously around Toris's brain - painful thoughts, gruesome thoughts, thoughts with dark shadows and dark liquids spilling across concrete. He's used to those sorts of things, having been in that sort of business for so long - but thinking of having to face them again makes him nearly wretch. It's a real possibility, as real as the jackhammer of his heart against his rib cage.

When Toris stepped up the small steps, his ankle spattered a bit of blood across the floor - and though the crown prince said that it was "totally alright", he knows authority figures well enough to predict the disgruntled flow of thoughts that could be rolling across the crown prince's mind. 'What a useless kid.' 'How horrible.' 'He should've died there on the street.' 'Why did we even stop for him?' 'God, we gotta teach him a lesson.'

The familiar pit in his stomach reminds him that those in power have that power because they're ruthless enough to do what they want to do.

So Toris sits and makes himself small against Raivis and Eduard's shoulders, and he begins to plan for the worst, struggling to keep his breathing steady while the crown prince continues to look out of the window.

The road grows smoother and smoother until the carriage is practically gliding on butter. Toris knows that he could always ask Raivis or Eduard to scoot over so he can glance out of the window - but he's shuddering too hard to even entertain the idea.

Abruptly, the carriage stops.

And Toris's heart nearly leaps out of his throat.

"We're here, your Highness," the platinum haired guard announces.

The crown prince blinks.

"Already?" The crown prince asks. Moments later, he yawns lushly. His knife-cut face moves away from the window, and he suddenly he is stretching his lithe limbs out, his long fingers brushing the golden heads of eagles.

They do not look like the hands of an aggressive man. They are soft and lily white, and look more suited to piano playing than any physical means. But Toris knows better than to merely judge people on face value.

The platinum haired guard nods.

"The trip isn't long."

The crown prince shakes his head, reaching his arms up to the ceiling.

"Yeah, but it's, like, raining, so…"

As he brings his hand down, he brushes a bit of the platinum haired guard's hair, grasping its softness between his fingers. Toris recognizes it immediately: a gesture of want urging some reciprocation.

But to his horror -

The guard casually bats the crown prince's hand away.

With Ivan Zimavich, an act of disrespect like that would warrant a scolding or a beating or both. Churning, he prepares himself for the sound of a slap.

The crown prince laughs.

"You're so mean!" The crown prince pouts.

His voice sounds like the clever chiming of bells.

"Don't mess around," the guard chastises. "You're like a little kid."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with being youthful~!"

"There is when you're being annoying."

"So rude, Łukaszek!"

"Whatever."

The guard speaks so coarsely, so roughly.

And yet - even though it is the ultimate act of disrespect for a subordinate to talk like that to his superior -

The crown prince not swear,

He did not throw. He didn't punch or slap or hit.

He joked with the guard, too.

He joked like they were equals.

The crown prince glances at them, sending a jolt through Toris's core.

He takes stock of them in the self-assured way that only the wealthy can afford, and as he does so, Toris catches a hint of green, something silent and catlike — but then the crown prince turns back to the guard, and the moment is over.

"Alright, Lukas, let's go." The crown prince says. "I'm dying to get inside."

"Mhm."

"Don't forget the umbrella. Get the fancy one, the cream one with the roses and the daisies on it. And, oh — they need umbrellas, too."

And for the first time since getting into the carriage, the crown prince looks at them.

His emerald eyes are sharp like a cat's. They're intimidating and a little held back like a jungle cat behind ferns - but they're not unkind, either. They glimmer with a little playfulness, some gold fleck that moves delicately under currents.

It's a strange mixture that leaves Toris breathless.

Moving past his starstruck stupor, though, Toris decides to tread cautiously. As kindly as those eyes seem, they  _are_ the eyes of a prince, and he knows fully well that royals are rarely the person they present on the surface.

The crown prince's order to Sir Lukas wavers tentatively in the air, and he pounces on it. He knows better than to ignore the benevolence of powerful men. "T-thank you, your Highness. That is greatly appreciated."

The crown prince nods dismissively, then turns to the brown haired guard on his left. "Sir Horvat."

Sir Horvat nods and opens the carriage door. He barely hesitates before heading straight into the rain. That brief, brief moment is enough for a few heavy raindrops to lightly pelt Toris's cheeks. The water chills his bones and his skin — and for a second, it is somewhat refreshing. But then the door closes, the carriage air grows suffocating, and they're left in tense silence.

The crown prince is the first to break it.

"So…" He says, still watching them. "After you three."

Sir Lukas nods.

"Go on," the guard says flatly.

There's a beat of silence where they can hear only the rain  _pitter-pattering_ on the roof top.

And then —

"I beg your pardon?" Toris sputters.

No one in their right mind would let a group of peasants leave before their superiors, let alone the crown prince. It's something completely unheard of.

But Sir Lukas nods again.

"You three will exit first," he says slowly, as if talking to a very small child. "Go on."

"Of course," Toris replies immediately.

But he does not move.

He does not think he can.

The situation is too strange to be anything but malicious. Leaving the carriage first, receiving no information about their location, the crown prince not speaking the whole ride - all of it reeks of  _interrogation_ and  _metal_ and  _imprisonment_ , all of them things he tried so hard to escape from.

Logic tells him to  _stop_ , to do what Sir Lukas orders before he and the crown prince become frustrated, but Toris ignores it — or, rather, he's paralyzed by by it. Because he knows that if he stands up, something bad will surely come. Something that will hurt his brothers and him.

So he stays still, unable to do anything but feel the crown prince's eyes bore into his skin, unable to think past anything besides  _escaping immediately._

The crown prince speaks first again.

"What are you guys waiting for?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrows. "We're not gonna let you get drenched. Sir Horvat's running for the umbrellas. And the inside of the castle is pretty warm, too, so you'll be fine."

Toris stares.

And then that one word rings in his mind.

 

 

_Castle._

 

 

" _C-castle?_ " Toris says, at the same time that Raivis gasps.

"Yeah," the crown prince confirms, looking at them even odder. "We're at Lipska Castle."

_Lipska Castle._

The royal palace of the Kingdom of Pospolita.

"Lipska Caste?" Toris repeats, reeling.

The crown prince nods nonchalantly, as if normal men just visited castles every day. "Yeah. Y'know, the place where the royal family lives?"

"O-of course, your Highness, of course. I j-just —"

"I know — it's pretty strange for someone who hasn't seen it before…" The crown prince trails off, thinking. A moment later he perks up. "Maybe if you can see better you'll believe me. Lukas, open the door for… hey, what's your name?"

"Toris. Toris… Laurinaitis."

"Toris," the crown prince murmurs. It sounds unbelievably wholesome when he says it - like rocks skipping over a placid summer lake - and Toris knows then that the sound will haunt his dreams for a good few years after. "Okay then. Lukas, open the doors for Toris and his… friends?"

"They're my brothers, your Highness."

"What're your guys' names?" The crown prince asks, looking at the two.

Raivis and Eduard answer.

"Cool. Okay." Seemingly unaware of the starstruck gazes he's receiving, the crown prince turns to Sir Lukas and jerks his chin towards the carriage door. "Lukas, open the door for Toris, Eduard, and Raivis. And hey - don't get any rain on my cape, okay?"

At first, Toris thinks the gesture oozes condescension. The crown prince speaks so loftily, so confidently. But the crown prince and Sir Lukas share an well-worn familiarity, one he sees in the way they look each other comfortably in the eye, and suddenly, the action becomes less of an  _order_  and more of a  _reminder._

He never knew princes could act like that.

Sir Lukas nods. He loops his fingers around the gilded door handle, and with a dramatic, flourishing flick of his wrist, he opens the carriage door into the silver pinprick rain.

"There it is," the crown prince announces as Toris, Raivis, and Eduard peer out with wide-eyes. "Lipska Castle."

"O-oh — oh my god," Raivis breathes.

And Toris stares.

From behind the gray sheets of rain, Lipska Castle shines before them. It extends gracefully off of the plains, its brownstone exterior gleaming like the finest bronze — and on the corners of the red tiled roof, Toris can see golden eagles perching with their heads raised. Behind a crack in the large oak double doors, he can see a hint of a magnificently lush red carpet.

He dreamt about this moment when he was younger. On the days when life was at its grayest, he would soak in the bath and pretend that darkness of the dissolving blood was the glint of Lipska Castle's brownstone walls. His mother and Iryna had told him so many stories of the castle that it became a fond, happy place in his mind, a place where he could retreat whenever he felt particularly terrible.

Toris always thought of how good it would be to be there, how full of life he would feel amongst the ornate walls and furniture. It would probably never happen, but  _oh,_ how happy he would be if it did.

And now —

Here he is.

Sitting before a place so corporeal it's almost unreal.

He struggles to find the words. When he does, they're soft and stumbling. "It's beautiful," he says.

"Like something out of a dream," adds Raivis hesitantly, craning his neck towards the sight.

"There's a story," Eduard begins, "about a girl who travels to a beautiful castle in a land far away." He pauses to clean his glasses, a nervous habit of his - and then, when the glasses are perched perfectly on his nose, he clears his throat delicately. "This is what I've always imagined that castle to look like."

Toris closes his eyes, thinking of that story - how when Iryna told it, he clung onto every word because he didn't know anything else.

"That story doesn't even come close to this," he murmurs,

Toris gazes at the castle for a moment longer, not even moving away when the rain hits his face. It feels clean, quiet. Real.

When he finally looks back into the carriage, the crown prince's lips are quirked up into a smile.

"Isn't it pretty?" He asks, his eyes shining brightly. A light rosy lilt colors his words, like the beat of a butterfly's wings. "It's the coolest building in all of Pospolita. You believe me now, right?"

"Yes," Toris says. "I do."

The crown prince's smile grows even wider, and Toris finds that it's incredibly easy to smile back. All of the anxiety he felt before seems to melt away. They share a warm look, impervious to the gloomy gray outside — and in that moment he knows it would be even easier to let some genuine kindness spill through his lips. For the crown prince seems kind, and he looks and acts and talks like a decent boy. A  _safe_ boy.

Maybe, just maybe… the type of boy he could be friends with.

His green eyes seem so terribly  _kind_ , after all.

But there was a time, a long while ago, that he thought the same thing about a certain other man. And that certain other man, as it turned out, was more terrible than kind.

And with that memory clutched between his teeth, the rosy facade Toris had built up vanishes.

Trusting people is a luxury he cannot afford. Even if it comes from the crown prince of his Kingdom - even if it seems to be more genuine than genuine can be - Toris cannot accept the far-flung kindness of strangers. Not after what happened the last time.

Out of everything in the great blue world, this he knows is true: decent men hide deceit under decent smiles. Wolves often walk the forest in sheep's clothing — and it's not until they've sunken their teeth into a soft underbelly that the prey knows it's been caught.

He must leave as soon as possible.

Before his illogical brain can give into the kindness.

He wills himself to look away from the crown prince's terrible eyes, focusing on the grassy plains instead. Though he does not know the terrain of the area, he does know where Lipska Castle is geographically - and if his calculations are correct, if he can somehow take his brothers and escape from the carriage right now, they can walk to the Fjordlands within five days. The only issues are the guards no doubt stationed all around the property - and, of course, his broken ankle.

The silence stretches between them, and the further it stretches, the more Toris becomes aware that the ball is in his court. He chooses his next words as diplomatically as possible. "I'm sorry… I still can't believe we're here."

"It's totally okay," the crown prince says. "It takes time to get used to."

And he's about to speak again, to bide time so he can think more about the escape plan when —

His foot shifts.

A burning fire swallows his ankle and he gasps out in pain, nearly doubling over from the sudden bout of nausea. Raivis and Eduard exclaim something that he can't hear over the ringing in his ears — and the crown prince jolts forward, his knife-cut face distorted with concern.

"Are you okay?!" The crown prince asks.

Toris grimaces.

"I'm — my ankle—"

He tries to go back to his previous position —

But he jolts his ankle again, and the pain worsens to the flame of ten thousand fires.

The crown prince's eyes are wide.

"We have to get you inside," the crown prince says firmly. But the words are lost. All Toris can focus on through Sir Lukas calling for guards and Eduard and Raivis whispering is the way the crown prince's wide jungle cat eyes fix intently on him.

From a long time ago, a man's voice floats blood sweet into his ear:

_Torenka, could you take this broom and sweep the dining room?_

And Toris panics.

"I'm fine," he says, forcing a sheepish smile for the crown prince - even when the pain shoots up his leg. "Really, you don't have to put yourself through so much trouble for me."

"Are you crazy?" The crown prince asks. "Your ankle is torn to pieces. You'll die if you don't get that treated."

"It doesn't hurt that much," Toris says.

"Even if you don't  _feel_ the pain, your body's still suffering."

"It's okay, your Highness, please don't worry yourself—"

"It's too late for that, because I'm already worried and I'm going to stay worried!" The crown prince straightens his shoulders firmly. "We're getting you inside  _right now_."

Toris chokes.

_Not now. Not now._

_We have to leave right_ now.

"Toris," Raivis whispers, "Toris, come on - let's just go into the castle and get help."

" _Raivis_ ," Toris says.

He gives Raivis a long, heavy look, praying to god that he does not run his mouth off for once, but his brother keeps going. "Y-you're really injured right now, and if you don't get help you can-"

"It's o—" a rod of pain makes Toris grit his teeth. "—kay."

"But you—"

"Trust me, I'll be fine, alright? There's no need to worry, little one." His voice goes unexpectedly tender at the end, and he curses inside. The last thing he needed was for Raivis to start crying.

The mistake seems to work out, though - for Raivis widens his eyes and hesitantly nods once, seemingly subdued.

Toris presses a comforting hand to his brother's shoulder before turning back to the crown prince.

What he sees unnerves him.

The crown prince has shed his flushed demeanor. Now, with his face as calm as a cool lake, he looks at Raivis intently. The look lingers for just a moment, but even so - even when the crown prince looks to Sir Lukas- Toris can't shake the feeling that the crown prince has somehow uncovered something unnameable.

"Laurinaitis in shock," Sir Lukas cuts in. He holds Toris ans his brothers in his gaze as he talks. "He's not thinking rationally. I'm sure those two aren't, either." He jerks his head towards Raivis and Eduard, then peers outside the carriage. Sir Horvat clutched an umbrella in his hands as he watches six guards, four carrying umbrellas and two carrying a stretcher, striding purposefully down the paved path to the castle. "Please leave the carriage first, your Highness. I can escort these three."

"Not yet," the crown prince says quietly. "Give me a minute."

Sir Lukas raises an eyebrow, but does not say any more.

The crown prince pauses for a moment before taking a deep breath. He offers Raivis a soft smile, then turns to Toris and fixes him with a serious look.

"Listen," he begins. "You can think whatever you wanna think about your foot. It's still gonna be broken. That won't change."

Those green eyes paralyze him like a sheep in the grasp of a wolf. Any minute now, sharp fangs will embed themselves in his flesh.

"But," the crown prince continues, "if you really want to go, you can go."

 

 

The words hit Toris like a gun.

 

 

 _You can go_.

 

 

 

"I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't wanna do. If you wanna walk right out of this carriage now, go for it. No one's gonna stop you."

The crown prince gestures to the ajar carriage door, and the guards waiting patiently just two feet away.

"But… but know this. We -  _I_  - really want to help you. And if you die on some muddy street somewhere, I'd be totally sad. Because none of you deserve to go like that."

With that, the crown prince steps out of the carriage. His golden hair shines brightly in the rain, even when a guard covers it with an umbrella. He moves casually - and that's what strikes Toris the most about the way he phrased what he said.

It wasn't  _I don't want to see you die._ It wasn't  _I am your prince and I am sworn to protect you._

He said it with the second person  _you._ The personal, other pronoun.

_... you don't deserve to go like that._

He said it like they're valuable. Like they're worth something.

Like all three of them - Toris Laurinaitis, Raivis Galante, and Eduard von Bock - are human.

It's something no one has acknowledged in a long, long while.

"Y-your Highness-" Toris begins, at a loss for words -

But then Raivis stands up, pulling Toris's left arm with him.

"We're going," he announces to Sir Lukas.

Sir Lukas nods, and Toris swears he sees a tenderness enter those once emotionless eyes as the blond steps out of the carriage.

As soon as the guard leaves, Toris darts his eyes up to Raivis. His short brother towers unusually tall.

"What are you doing?" He asks, his voice trembling. "Don't you know that this could be -"

" - Good." Raivis says. "I-it'll be good, Toris. These people - they really seem kind."

A million reasons as to why Raivis shouldn't be this naive tumble to the tip of Toris's tongue. Toris turns to Eduard, expecting his brother to display the same skepticism he feels - but to his shock, Eduard sighs and nods.

"He seems to be a just person," Eduard offers as explanation. "And really, they have no reason to… harm us here."

Before Toris can say anything, a voice calls out to them.

Sir Lukas and the six guards wait at the entrance of the carriage. The crown prince and Sir Horvat look at them from the middle of the path. Waiting. Watching.

Just for them.

"Whenever you're ready, Laurinaitis," Lukas says smoothly.

Eduard stands, too, hoisting Toris's right arm.

"Let's go," he says firmly.

And Toris is at a crossroads.

He cannot escape even if he wants to. The crown prince was right - now that the shock has settled, his ankle burns like a raging wildfire. One miniscule movement sends flares of agony up his leg. Not only that, but Raivis and Eduard are bought firmly onto the crown prince's side. Onto the kindness.

Kindness.

It's a trap. It's not genuine, and it never will be.

It's just a facade for with men with soulless eyes and too much time on their hands.

The logical part of him thinks of a white-haired man that day in the alleyway, about the way he held his hand out so gently, and screams.

But.

There is another part of him, too.

A tender, too soft part.

A part that thinks of kind green eyes and gently flushed cheeks, and a warm, secret look shared between two boys in a carriage. It thinks of the stone-skipping way that boy said his name and the way he ordered them umbrellas. And most of all, it thinks of that singular other pronoun  _you._

His Highness Feliks Łukasiewicz of the Kingdom of Pospolita is a prince. He could have worded it anyway he wants.

And he words it like that.

Toris glances at Raivis and Eduard - their expectant eyes. And he glances outside, at the far-flung figure of the crown prince with his red cape and his soft smile.

He does not know what the crown prince wants.  _But_ , he supposes…  _it's better to he caught by a man who pretends to be kind than one who does not pretend at all._

 _Well,_ Toris thinks,  _we have no other choice. If I have to, I will. And as soon as I'm better, I'll find us a way out of here and we'll leave._

"Okay," Toris says. "Okay."

Raivis and Eduard lie him down on the stretcher. When his back hits the durable fabric, and Eduard stabilizes his ankle, Toris sighs. It's more comfortable than it should be for someone like him.

His mind wanders to the darkest possibility, the possibility that the crown prince is just buttering him up like a someone did long ago - but as soon as he gets there, he shakes his head and scatters the thought away.

Right now, he needs to memorize as much of the castle as he can. He needs to watch his brothers, who already look more comfortable than ever before. And though he hates to admit it… he needs to rest. To regain his strength so they can leave earlier.

Sir Lukas yells something, and the guards proceed their slow funerary walk to the castle. During the walk, drops of rain hit the sides of his face. Toris closes his eyes and relishes in them, in the feeling of being light and airy. Just for a moment.

"Be careful with him, okay?" The crown prince calls from ahead. "His ankle is, like, totally messed up."

His voice is golden and lofty and strangely genuine.

Toris knows it's fake, though. He can feel it. He needs to remember that.

But despite himself -

He allows himself to think, just for a moment, that the crown prince is definitely kind. That it isn't all a facade. That he really, really meant it when he said that Toris Laurinaitis did not deserve to die.

And the thought makes Toris want to smile.

* * *

The guards lay him down on a bed in the medical ward. It's a small, clean space. The bricks are light brown, and every few feet there are rounded glass windows that peer out into a lush green garden. In another life, this could have been his version of paradise.

The world gathers a soft edge as lies in the bed. The succulents on the windowsills float in doubles, and the many faces around him grow blurred. Yet Toris forces himself to stay up, focusing on the two pots of lavender by the closest windowsill until he sees a healer lead Eduard and Raivis into the next beds over. He smiles, allows his eyelids to flicker.  _Thank god,_ he thinks.  _Thank god. They're safe._

His blood pools richly onto the starched sheets, making star-shaped patterns where it falls. Toris traces it with his eyes. Marvels at the complexity of the human body. As leather heels click on the stone floor, as the softness at the edges of his vision grows black, and as his brothers' figures dissolve into nothingness, the last thing he thinks is  _I didn't know blood could be so pretty._

When the healer walks into the room, Toris Laurinaitis passes out and does not wake up.

* * *

 

He's playing with a wooden wolf when his mama bustles into the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dirty apron. Her long, braided hair is messy, and there are splotches of dirt covering her ruddy cheeks. Nonetheless, she smiles happily - and when she spots him underneath the kitchen table, fond crinkles appear at the corners of her moss green eyes.

"Toris!" She laughs. "What are you doing under there, sweetheart?"

"I'm playing, mama."

It was an intense battle of wolves versus iron knights, and the wolves were in a tricky position against the cliffside. If they made one wrong move, they would fall into the ravine. Toris squints at his wooden wolf. He silently wills it to be strong - and then, with a dramatic flick of his wrist, he viciously attacks an invisible knight, knocking its invisible helmet off into the ravine before tumbling the wolf to the floor.

"I see. Well, get out from under there, dearest, and find Eduard. I have to make a trip today, and I want you two to be up in your room when I leave."

Toris pauses. He finds the wolf a safe spot under an invisible tree before glancing up at his mama.

"A trip?"

"Yes."

Toris scoots out from under the table to find mama standing at the kitchen sink. With deft hands, she wraps one loaf of rye bread, two apples, and two boiled eggs into a coarse brown cloth.

"I'm going to visit Daumantas today," she explains as he peers up at her. "Just to give him some things."

Toris frowns.

Daumantas was a strange old man who had greasy white hair that was always plastered flat to his head and a large, gaping mouth with no teeth. He talked too loud, spit flinging from his mouth whenever he did - and when he came over, which was quite often, he spent too long talking to Toris about this and that. Out of all of the people in their small community, Daumantas was the last person Toris would want to visit. Much less give things to.

Not only that, but Daumantas lived far away from their house, about a mile or two down the road. By the time mama would get there, the sun would be setting. And by the time she would get back home, it would be night, and she would put him and Eduard straight to bed. There wouldn't be any more time for playing in the kitchen, down where the ground was the smoothest and the breeze the nicest. Toris frowns, thinking of his battle and his brave wolf… and the time he had to wipe a wad of spit from his cheek.

"Why do you need to give him things?" He asks.

Mama goes quiet as she wraps a thin piece of twine around the cloth. As Toris waits, a beam of golden sunshine passes through their window and over her head, turning her braid into thick rivers of dark amber.

"Daumantas is getting old," she finally says. "When people get to be his age, it gets harder for them to move around and to do things for themselves. So I'm giving him some food, just to look out for him."

"Will no one else give him anything?"

Mama pauses.

"Many people think Daumantas is… strange. And because they think he's strange, they think he's… different than us. Not many people visit him."

Toris thinks back to the times Daumantas has come over to the house. How his wide, gaping mouth opened in a smile whenever mama opened the door.

"What about on his birthday?"

"Well, of course they come over on his birthday. But probably not during the rest of the year… or at least, not often."

Toris can't imagine it. His days are spent hanging around mama in the garden, or roaming around the fields with Eduard. Every hour, he has someone to keep him company - and if he doesn't, it's only a matter of time before he attaches himself to someone else. Because the hours without people are so boring, so  _lonely_ , that he can't stand much of them.

What must it be like then for Daumantas, who's alone all the time?

"That's sad…" He murmurs, frowning.

Mama nods.

"Really… deep down, Daumantas is a good man. He's been so kind to us, you know." She pauses. "He made you that wolf for your first birthday."

"Really?"

"Yes. He spent weeks carving it."

Toris looks back at the wooden wolf laying steadfastly on the kitchen floor - his favorite toy in the whole world. Carved by that old man with greasy white hair, wrinkled hands, and a gaping smile.

Mama takes a small breath as if to continue speaking. But before she can speak, the wolf under the table dissolves into a black that swallows the kitchen floor and his mama and the rest of their tiny house - and before he knows it, the black swallows Toris, too.

And for a while, he floats.

* * *

 

There's other moments, too. Bits and pieces cutting from beyond the white cloud cover.

A pair of guards whispering.

A woman wrapping his ankle with cloth.

Soft sunshine filtering through the windows.

The voice of a boy, lofty and powerful.

Blood-stained white sheets.

A stinging poultice on his ankle.

A blond boy spooning him oatmeal.

A brunet boy crying.

The blond and the brunet whispering.

Moonlight.

A golden halo of hair.

Quiet tiptoes and the door gliding shut.

Platinum blond hair, a cool wind, a brown package.

The lofty voice, intense.

Red.

And white.

And red.

And white.

And white.

And white.

And the blond and the brunet, holding his hands and asking him to  _please wake up soon, Toris, please wake up._

A glimpse of his mother's moss green eyes, and the golden rye fields on the way to Daumantas's house.

_Please wake up, Toris._

So he does.

* * *

 

When his eyes open to a sea of white, Toris thinks he has died.

A weight lifts off his chest. For the first time in nearly ten years, he finds that he can breathe easy.

 _It's so peaceful,_ he thinks.  _Like a dream._

He knows that he should be concerned with how pleasant he finds this. How quaint it is. The calm, though, is too nice to question. It's best to just leave it be.

He takes a deep breath, letting the sweetness settle into his bones...

And the harsh, unpleasant thickness that pools in his throat makes him gag.

A high voice says "You're awake!", and suddenly, the world isn't so peaceful anymore.

"Eduard!" The high voice exclaims. Leather boots clack towards his bedside. "Eduard, come here! Toris is awake!"

Toris scrubs at his eyes with a sore hand, snaps them shut against the green spots that float across his vision. Who  _is_ this voice? And  _where_ he is if he's not dead?

He forces his head up. Catches sight of a brunet boy and a blond -

And he remembers.

"Raivis!" He cries out hoarsely. "Eduard!"

The peace he felt before is nothing compared to the euphoria he feels upon seeing his brothers. Raivis and Eduard beam at him, rushing to his side. Toris tries to sit himself up to properly greet them, but Eduard rushes over and places both hands on his shoulders. "Don't move, Toris," the boy chastises, shaking his head. "You're going to strain yourself."

"I'm fine," Toris says. "Really, I just have to -"

He tries again -

Only to fall back onto the bed, wincing as his wobbling arms and stiff back ache from the sudden impact.

Eduard gives him a long look.

"Ugh - I need a few minutes to wake up, that's all-" He insists, but it's no use. Eduard has already put a hand under his shoulder.

"Raivis, help me prop him up," Eduard says. Toris grimaces inside, quietly humiliated.

As if sensing his thoughts, Eduard shakes his head. "You were out for a week," he informs Toris. "You won't be able to do anything by yourself for a while."

"Ahh— a  _week?_ "

"You slept like a rock."

"God," Toris groans.

"Rest for a bit. You need it."

Raivis nods absently. He comes over and slides a hand under Toris's other shoulder. "It's nice to nap," he informs Toris.

"Only if you don't have other things to do…"

"What other things do you have to do?" Raivis asks pleasantly.

Toris rubs his eyes. "I don't know, but I'm sure there's a lot."

Raivis shakes his head. "Just relax for a moment, would you? You shouldn't strain yourself, especially at your age… You could break a hip or something."

"Eh?! At my age?! Raīvite, I'm only three years older than you!"

"Yeah, which means you're practically a dinosaur."

Toris's eyes bulge.

"Don't tease him like that, Raivis," Eduard cuts in, tut-tutting. "You'll give the old man a heart attack."

"You two are so troublesome, I swear!" Toris cries out, pretending to be offended - but the smile that spreads across his face says otherwise.

Eduard and Raivis work quickly. Chattering quietly about this and that, they fetch extra pillows, lift Toris up, and layer the pillows beneath his back so he can sit up. A swell of pride rises up in his chest.

It's strange to think that just a few years ago, they were toddling around unsteadily and clinging to his legs. And now they're walking around with straight backs, already so close to being mature adults. It pangs just a bit - ah, if only they could stay young forever!- but he buries it in the way they hold themselves like they belong in the castle. They're so mature. So… different.

… They hold themselves very differently, actually, and now that Toris has oriented himself, it is the slightest bit strange.

He squints at his fluttering brothers.

They're cleaner, that's for sure. Their hair is washed and combed, and their cheeks have been scrubbed free of dirt. But that's not it.

Their faces are healthy and full, but that's not it, either.

It's only when Raivis sits down and crosses his legs on the bed to Toris's right that he realizes what it is.

"Raivis," Toris says, a little bewildered, "where did you get those boots from?"

They're the fanciest boots Toris has ever seen. They're shiny and black, going up to the knees - and as he eyes them more, Toris realizes that they're not boots they would be able to afford normally. They're certainly not boots that just anymore would give them, either.

Raivis and Eduard, who sits down next to him, share a look.

"About that." Eduard hesitates. "There's… ah, something we need to tell you."

Toris's stomach drops.

"What is it?" He asks, furrowing his brows. "Did you two — ... are you in trouble?"

"W-well, we don't really know," Raivis admits, wringing his hands. "We could be in trouble or we could not be — he didn't really say…"

"Raivis!" Eduard hisses.

"Who? Who didn't say?"

Toris looks at his brothers and then the boots, uncomprehending. The pit at the bottom of his stomach grows wider, gnawing at him.

"You guys," he says when neither of them speaks. "What happened?"

His blood chills.

A thought enters his head —

And his stomach  _tilts._

The words catch in his throat when he chokes them out. "It wasn't a  _bribe,_ was it?"

Eduard's eyes widen. He shakes his head frantically.

"No, no — Toris, you've got it all wrong."

"Then what are they? What's going on?"

He tries to think rationally, and he keeps his voice perfectly calm — at least, as calm as it can get. Losing control won't do anything besides scare his brothers. But it's hard.

Inside, he trembles memories of alleyways and dark metal.

Eduard takes a deep breath.

"The crown prince sent the boots for us."

Toris freezes.

"What?"

"I said the crown prince sent the boots for us."

Any minute now, he expects Eduard and Raivis to burst out laughing. To explain that they've caught him in another joke, and that they've procured the boots for just this one scene. But neither of them starts laughing.

Their faces are serious.

"I… I'm sorry.  _What?_ "

Visions of a halo of golden hair float up from his memories. He remembers it all so clearly, and yet -

It couldn't possibly be real.

"It's true," Eduard affirms. "When you were… sleeping, Sir Lukas delivered pairs for all of us. You have a pair, too."

"H-huh?!"

"The package is on your bedside table. They're quite comfortable." Eduard says. He crosses his legs and taps his boots.

"They're a bit tight on the toes—" Raivis starts, but Eduard elbows him before he can get any further.

Not that Toris would have cared at the moment.

Eduard's face is as hard and clear as the boots, and as he looks at it, Toris's stomach aches.

What they're telling him right now goes against any logic he's learned within the past ten years. In his world, crown princes don't give anything to paupers — they don't even give a damn. Now Eduard is saying that they've received  _boots._

It's something he can't wrap his mind around, no matter how hard he tries.

It's something he needs to  _see._

"Bedside table, huh…" Toris mutters, dazed.

He glances over to the bedside table, and -

A box sits on the oak.

It's wooden, finely-sanded with no blemishes. And as Toris takes the fine box and sets it onto his lap, he expects this to be the thing that shatters the illusion.  _Any minute now they'll say it's a joke. They're just… just pretending._

He lifts up the heavy top, removes layer after layer of delicate crimson tissue paper.

_Any minute now._

The last layer of tissue paper rests on a lumpy object. Toris inhales before pulling it off gently.

He gasps.

A pair of leather boots rests at the bottom of the wooden box.

They're smooth and clean, so blindingly bright in the soft morning light that it almost hurts to look at them. The leather is high quality — nothing like the worn cloth shoes Georgi and Vladimir were forced to pass down to them. The soles are thick and sturdy. And when Toris checks the inside of the boots…

For the first time in a long, long while, the foot size matches his own.

He pulls a boot out, flips it over, and finds the crest of the Pospolitan royal family emblazoned on the back. A sharp-eyed eagle stares proudly up at him.

That crest alone is worth more than he has ever owned in his entire life.

Suddenly, it's a little hard to breathe.

"They're pretty," Raivis breathes. "So much better than those old things we had before."

"Don't say that," Toris admonishes, stroking the leather with one finger. It's nice and firm under his hand.

"It's true, though."

"Yes, but it was better than not having shoes at all. It could have been way worse for us."

He holds one boot up to the light, frowning slightly, and analyzes the surface for any imperfections. He finds none. The boots are absolutely perfect. Even if he did find any imperfections, though, he wouldn't mind. This is already more than he deserves.

As shocked and confused as he may he… Toris Laurinaitis is still incredibly grateful for the gift. It's been a long, long time since anyone has given him anything this thoughtful.

Which is yet another reason why he needs to find out why he received it.

He gingerly lays the boot back into the box and turns to Eduard.

"Eduard… You're sure the crown prince sent these?"

"Of course," Eduard answers. "Sir Lukas told us so."

Toris makes a mental note to thank Sir Lukas alongside the crown prince later.

"And you're sure that the crown prince meant to give these to  _us_."

"Yes. Sir Lukas specifically said so. He said, 'These come from the crown prince for you, Raivis, and Toris'. Then he turned on his heel and left."

Raivis opens his mouth and-

Eduard elbows him again.

"You two thanked him, right?"

Eduard and Raivis, who rubs his side with a pained expression, nod.

"Good."

There's a beat of silence.

"There's still something I don't understand," Toris confesses a moment later. "Why… why  _us_ , out of all people?"

Suddenly, he remembers something.

"Why do you keep elbowing Raivis?" Toris asks Eduard.

He then turns to Raivis, crossing his arms and setting his face seriously.

"What did you mean earlier when you said 'we could be in trouble'?"

Raivis sputters.

"Well, you see…" He says, side-eyeing Eduard.

Eduard opens his mouth to delay the inevitable word vomit, but Toris holds up a hand and stops him. "No.  _You_ tell me, Raivis Galante."

Out of anyone he knows, Toris trusts Raivis the most to tell the truth. Not because Raivis is the most naturally honest - but because he can never shut his mouth when asked.

Raivis sputters more, turns bright tomato red; Eduard shifts on the bed, wanting clearly to say something but knowing better than to say it now.

He gives Raivis time to think, staring at his younger brother dead on while waiting for him to speak. Adrenaline pushes through Toris's veins - he's tempted to break from the anticipation of it all.

Eventually, though, Raivis opens his mouth.

And he speaks, trembling.

"Um… Lukas also said that the crown prince gave us these boots because… uh… he said he didn't want you to ruin the floor in his study.

He wants to meet with you alone."

"Alone," Toris echoes.

"Yeah. He said it can happen whenever you're feeling better, so you can take your time, b-but…"

"The crown prince wants to meet with me  _alone_."

"Yeah… T-Toris, are you feeling okay? Your face-"

Raivis presses a hand to his forehead, whispering something about  _red_ and  _hot._

Toris doesn't hear the rest.

All he can hear in his mind are those words, repeating over and over and over again.

_He wants to meet with you alone._

The world spins, nauseating him to a dangerous degree, as the full implication of the thought settles in.

 _It's a trap,_ he thinks wildly. Toris takes deep breaths in a desperate attempt to settle his racing heart, but it only makes him think of dark basements and chilly bedrooms and his thoughts spin wilder.  _It's a trap. It's a trap. He did it. He did it._

_And I was blind enough to fall for it._

It all makes sense now. The carriage and the smiles and the fancy boots.

All the time, the crown prince was luring them in and they didn't even realize it.

Raivis's rambling voice breaks through the din.

"It won't be that bad - they seem like good people. Good and  _kind…_ "

Raivis - Raivis, his naive little brother, who still thinks that there can be good in the world. Who sings to songbirds in the morning and gives too much of himself away. Who reminds him a little bit of himself.

Toris chokes up.

"The last time we saw kind was when Ivan Zimavich trapped us in that house," he spits. Raivis flinches, tears gathering in his eyes - and it hurts so much that Toris's heart pangs. But he can't have his brothers hurt again - not like this - not when they've already gotten this far. "And now look at where we are."  _Trapped. Again._

Eduard pushes his glasses up.

"Leave this to me," he says to a cowering Raivis, who nods. He sighs, pats Raivis's head gently. Acts as this is just a simple sibling's squabble, and not a return to the world as they know it.

"Toris," Eduard says firmly. "We understand how you feel. Really, we do. We…" He pauses as he struggles to find the right words. When Eduard finds them, his voice comes out soft and hoarse. "... we were in that house, too.

We haven't forgotten how Ivan Zimavich…  _treated_ us there. We remember it every single day. As I'm sure you do, too."

Toris clenches his fists.

"I remember," he says, his heart aching.

Eduard continues.

"At the same time… we remember life before the house, too. We remember life back when we lived at the old home… when mama was still alive."

Warm tears pluck at the corners of Toris's eyes, almost falling when he remembers their mother smiling while walking amongst the rye fields on every hot summer's day.

"And… don't you remember what mama used to say when we lived there?  _'If a person seems wicked, do not cast him away'?_ "

And suddenly, Toris knows exactly where Eduard is going.

The wolf had moved in for the kill.

"That doesn't apply to this," Toris cuts in. "This is a  _life or death situation_ we're talking about."

No one around him seemed to  _understand._ No one grasped the  _gravity_ of the situation. Didn't they know that they could get hurt? Didn't they know that he didn't  _want_ them to get hurt?

Eduard looks at him with an incomprehensible look on his face, a face like the ripple of water over a calm pond. Toris wants to take him by the shoulders and shake gently, to just make him  _see_ before he takes another gentle hand.

"This is  _critical,_ " Toris presses.

"No. No, it's not," Eduard replies.

"You know as well as I do what things kindness can hide."

"Not all kind people are like that."

Toris freezes.

And with those words, he finally understands the look in those cornflower blue eyes.

It's  _sadness_.

 _No,_ Toris thinks, stricken.  _No, no, no._

"Toris… the crown prince and the rest of the royal family are kind people. Decent people," Eduard says. And Toris watches, horrified, as Raivis nods in agreement. "They have no reason to hurt us."

"We thought Ivan Zimavich was kind, too," Toris argues. "We thought he was kind, and  _yet_ -"

Eduard sighs, pushing up his gladses. "I  _know_ we thought he was like that. But these people aren't Ivan Zimavich. Whatever it is they're showing us is  _good_." He sighs. "They're the leaders of our country. They care for us."

"That's what they show on the outside."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that they can be double-sided, Ed. For all we know, these same kind people can turn on us at any moment. They could kill us right here and cover it up. No one would bat an eye. All because they seem  _decent_."

"You're being unreasonable," Eduard says calmly.

The comment hits like a punch to the gut.

"I'm being unreasonable." Toris chuckles. " _I'm_  being unreasonable. I - I'm being  _unreasonable_ for questioning this and making sure that we won't  _starve_ again?!"

"I know it's going to be hard, but you have to just -"

"I have to just  _what_ , Eduard? What, should I bend over and let the crown prince lead us into another alleyway? Should I stand and  _watch_ as he gives us another ten years of hard labor? Or should I - should I sit and smile politely as he beats us senseless again?"

Toris grabs a fistful of his blanket and  _digs_ his nails into his palms, trying desperately to resist the urge to dig them into his back.

"Stop it," Raivis whimpers, rocking back and forth slightly. "Stop it, you two, stop it!"

Eduard breathes in and out so quickly that Toris thinks he might hyperventilate. An explosion of panic bursts in his chest - but Eduard struggles on, lifting his chin up high.

This time, his placid face is blazing.

"Not everyone in this world is going to be like Ivan Zimavich. Yes, we met one bad man who did bad things to us, but that does not mean that everyone else in world will do those things to us, too."

Toris's face burns as he and Eduard stare each other down. "There are always going to be some people who will do those bad things. And we are always going to need to keep our guard up for them."

" _Some_  people, not all."

"That doesn't change the fact that we have to be skeptical-"

"It doesn't mean that we should alienate the rest of the world, either."

"How do you know that the crown prince is part of the rest of the world? How do you know that he's not—" Toris practically spits the next part out, "one of  _them_?!"

"Because I  _saw it!_ " Eduard cries, raising his voice for the first time in years. "Do you think that if the crown prince really wanted to discard us, he would give us these boots?" He points to the box on Toris's lap. "He could have given us any pair of shoes in the palace, and with the state we were in, we would have probably accepted any pair of shoes, too. But he gave us  _high quality boots._ Boots with the crest of the  _Pospolitan royal family!_ If he thought we were so lowly, and he thought we were so disposable, he wouldn't even think to put these boots in the same room as us, much less on our feet!"

"He could have—"

"And do you think if he really thought we were so lowly, he would have gotten us umbrellas when we walked into the castle? That he would have waited for us on the steps? Do you think he would have told us that we can leave at any time?"

"Ed—"

"He wouldn't have. Because if he truly thought we are malleable and vulnerable as you imagine he thinks we are, he would think that we would be licking the dirt off of his boots just for the opportunity to breathe the same air as him."

"It could be a trap, Eduard! He could be grooming us to get used to him, and we wouldn't even know about it!"

"Trust me, he isn't."

"The last time we trusted someone -"

"That was the last time -  _this_ is the current time. If we keep on looking back into the past, we'll never face forward to the future!"

"Don't you know the saying that history repeats itself?"

"Only _if we let it!_  Which we  _won't._ If this situation turns out to be horrible, then yes — we will leave. But we have to at least  _see_ what will happen!"

Eduard breathes heavily.

Toris's mind whirls.

For ten years, all he's known kindness to be is one thing. And now his brother has the audacity - the guts - to suggest that it could be another.

He doesn't realize that he's bleeding until he sees a pinprick of red soak through the white sheets. He hisses, and draws his hand away from the bed sheets. He cut his palms.

There's a tense, heavy pause as they both stare at each other.

Eduard's gaze softens.

"The crown prince is  _kind_ , Toris. He means well."

"Eduard…"

"I thought this is what we wanted to happen. I thought all three of us wanted to get away from where we were."

"We  _do_."

"So why aren't we? Why aren't we taking this opportunity?"

 _Because I'm sick of being controlled!_ Toris screams.

But he doesn't.

He can only stare down at the boots in front of him - the freshly shined boots.

Eduard sets his face firmly.

"Listen. If the crown prince thought we were as lowly as you think he thinks we are, and if he truly wasn't kind - do you think he would have said that we don't deserve to die?"

Toris thinks back to that moment. The way the crown prince sounded so earnest.

"Because," Eduard continues, his voice soft, "I don't think he would have."

Toris squeezes his eyes shut.

And deep down, that sweet, sentimental part of him thinks that Eduard is right.

"You know it too, Raivis, and so do you, Toris. You know it, but you just won't  _accept_  it."

The world has flipped and spun on its axis. The previously calm brown walls now scream in his face, making him want to get outoutout — but he can't move his arms, and he can't move his legs, and he can't even think, really. Because all he can see is the crown prince's smile, bright as the sun — and when it had once been blinding, making him wanting to shrivel into a ball, everything Eduard said reshapes it into something familiar and unknown all at once. Something warm and searching and  _kind._

Kind.

Not a wolf in sheep's clothing, just a sheep.

Outside, the sunlight filters through the windows, casting dancing shadows on the floor.

"You just have to try to trust again, Toris."

Trust.

It's so simple in theory.

It's sitting in a rainy alleyway, staring up at a smiling face, and taking a proffered hand.

But it's also lying down on a white stretcher, staring up at a raining sky, and listening to a lush voice telling a guard to be gentle.

Really, it's so simple.

So pure.

_But how do I even know who to trust?_

_Do I…._

_Do I even remember what trust is?_

_Do I_ want  _to remember what it is?_

The door bursts open with a rife of color and sounds. Toris jolts as a healer dressed in white bustles her way into the room, followed by a girl in a plain brown dress carrying a slew of potions and bandages. Eduard, who gives him a heavy look, and Raivis, who wipes silent tears from his cheeks, scoot off of their bed.

The healer smiles when she sees him.

"Oh good!" She cries, clapping her hands together. "You're awake. How are you feeling, my dear?"

_I don't know._

_I don't know anything anymore._

All he can see is a wreath of golden haloed hair and green eyes staring back at him.

And it makes him feel light as a bird and heavy as a stone all at once.

There's a moment of hesitation as Toris, disoriented, places the shoebox onto his bedside table.

"I'm good," Toris replies, smiling at the healer as she bustles over to check his wounds.

But really, that couldn't be further from the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lipska Castle is based off of Moszna Castle in Poland. It's truly a lovely building.
> 
> Anyways - hello! I'm back! Sorry for the long wait! OTL I know I said that I would be updating five chapters in a row, but... well, I was going over my notes, and I decided I needed to add more to the prologue to really establish things. ^^;; I hope it hasn't been too boring. Don't worry - after the next prologue chapter, we'll be launching into the main story. That'll be sure to get the blood pumping.
> 
> Speaking of blood pumping - ahh, poor Toris! I feel like a monster. ;w;; The kid doesn't deserve everything I've put him through. (And everything I'm going to put him through.) Fear not, though - it'll get better for him eventually. (Maybe. I hope so.)
> 
> I'm sorry if him and Eduard and Raivis all sound somewhat similar / OOC. I haven't written them in a while, so bare with me as I get a hang on their character again. The same applies to Feliks and Lukas.
> 
> It was fun to write them, though! I really missed these dorks. ^^
> 
> I don't really have too much to add this chapter, so I'll end this Author's Note here. As always, if you have any thoughts about this chapter, please, please feel free to leave a comment or shoot me a PM! I'd love to be able to hear what you guys liked and disliked so I can make this story even better.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter of Knight Unexpected! Thank you for your support, and I'll see you next time~
> 
> -NC
> 
> Tumblr - actualninjacat
> 
> Tumblr tag - fic: knight unexpected
> 
> fanfiction.net: marcorooni


	3. Prologue (Part Three)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moments later, the door opens to reveal a platinum blond head. Sir Lukas steps out onto the carpet, a silver spear glinting in his right hand.
> 
> Toris and Eduard give respectful, careful bows, and Sir Lukas gives a quick bow in return. The way they dance around each other reminds Toris of a wolf stalking its prey — and the cool look Lukas has only cements that impression.
> 
> "Toris Laurinaitis," he says. "Your Highness will see you now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the late update, but I'm back again!
> 
> See the end of this chapter for an extended author's note! :D

 

_Prologue (Part Three)_

That night, as Toris stares at the ceiling, he thinks of the moment he shared with the crown prince, with both of them warm and close against the downpour of the gray rain.

He thinks of it until the chirping of early morning birds lulls him to sleep.

* * *

The first thing that materializes is the wooden wolf. Around it forms wooden floors, the legs of a table — and then the kitchen of Toris's childhood home falls back into place.

Mama stands at the sink, fiddling with her bag of food for the strange old man Daumantas, who spits everywhere and lives three miles down the road.

Abruptly, she stops fiddling — and she finally continues the sentence she left off on long ago.

"Ah, he was so happy when he gave it to you." She says, referring to Toris's favorite toy wolf. "I remember his expression like it was yesterday…"

Toris pictures the old man smiling, displaying his wide, toothless mouth for the world to see. All of that because of a present for a boy who rarely talked to him.

Mama sighs, then picks up the package and moves away from the sink.

"But that's enough of that." She says. She squats before Toris and offers a calloused hand, which he takes to hoist himself out from under the table. After they're both standing, she gives him a loving pat on the shoulder. "Go find Eduard, sweetheart. I have to go soon."

Toris thinks about what his mother said.

About Daumantas and his old age, and the days he spent alone without anyone to care for him. About the wooden wolf… and how, despite how Toris tried to avoid Daumantas whenever he visited… the old man spent weeks and weeks carving it, grasping tools with his trembling hands and squinting with his yellow eyes.

In the end, how can he compare that with a few spit balls?

...

Hesitantly, he meets his mama's eyes.

"Mama?"

"Yes, my dear?" His mama says.

"Can I go with you?" Toris Laurinaitis asks.

There's a brief pause.

Mama's eyes widen in surprise.

"Go with me?"

"Yes."

"To Daumantas?"

"Yes."

"Sweetheart, you don't need to. I'll be back soon. And you can continue playing upstairs, you know."

"But I _want_ to go."

"Why?"

"Because… because you said he was lonely," Toris says, flustered. "And that's… it's sad."

She considers him for a long, long time.

And then —

Mama smiles, absolutely radiant.

Toris stares in bewilderment as his mama wipes her wide and shining eyes. When she speaks, her voice is a little choked.

"Well, if that's the case… of course you can go with me, dearest. Of course."

Later, as they sit in the rickety chairs in Daumantas's house, Toris tells the man all about the adventures he's had with the wolf - about the battle between the wolves and the iron knights, and how he sleeps with the figure clutched in his hand every night.

Daumantas asks Toris to repeat the story several times. He leans in too close with his squinting eyes, and he spits onto Toris's shirt, too.

But he listens aptly, and his toothless smile is wide and genuine — and a few times, Toris sees him wipe his eyes with a shaking finger. By the end of the night, as Toris repeats the story for the tenth time to a laughing Daumantas, he decides that the smile on the old man's face is better than any battle could ever be.

* * *

One week later, Toris Laurinaitis stands in front of the crown prince's study.

A pair of wooden double doors decorated with eagles and poppies loom in front of him. Ornate vases stand guard on the sides of the door. A plush red carpet, severely cut, leads into the study. The air is choked with the scent of potpourri and apples.

The whole area feels tight with restraint - and as Toris stands on the carpet, his posture immaculate, he feels the same tightness grip vice-like onto his ribs.

"Toris. Toris… _Toris._ "

"A-ah — what?"

"Please look at me."

Toris does.

On his left, Eduard glances at him with concern.

"How are you feeling?" His brother asks.

Toris forces a sheepish smile. "I'm — I'm fine," he says, stomping down the worms in his stomach. "I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Eduard raises an eyebrow.

"I am," Toris says.

"If you say so," Eduard says, then pushes up his glasses.

They both know it's not true, but the pleasantries are important.

Eduard looks at his freshly washed shirt — Toris looks at the wooden double doors. He thinks of what lurks in that room, and he clears his throat.

"Ah, thank you for coming here with me," he says, "but you… you can go now, Ed. It's okay."

Eduard's lips settle into a firm line.

"Are you sure?" He asks. "It might be some time before you're summoned in."

"Don't worry about me. Just go back to the medical ward."

"Well, at least let me stay here until the meeting begins."

That's what he says, but Toris knows Eduard really means _please let me make sure that you don't run away._

He knows it in the way Eduard was so kind in the morning — in the way he danced circles around conversation from before — in the way that he volunteered swiftly to walk Toris to the study without giving Raivis time to speak. All of this to keep him face forward towards the future— to force him to confront the "truth" of this "kind prince" without barriers.

Toris swallows.

It's something that he can't think about.

Otherwise, he's afraid of what he might do.

"I'll be okay, Ed. I can handle myself."

"I _know_ you can," Eduard sighs. "I just… I want to make sure you're… safe."

Eduard looks away, pushing up his glasses, and Toris's heart melts a little. "I will be safe," he says softly, giving his brother a reassuring smile. "I will be. I would just feel even safer if you would go somewhere… away from this."

Because for some reason — he's just as afraid of what Eduard will do, too.

Eduard's face shifts. He starts a sentence… but reconsiders the words and starts again. "...If you say so," he acquiesces lightly.

Toris nods. "Thank you."

His brother turns. Halfway through, he pauses.

"Before I go, I want to ask this. Toris…"

There's a little shifting of feet as Eduard considers his next words.

"...You'll remember what I told you, right?"

Toris stiffens.

How could he forget?

The words come back strong, as harsh to the ear as they were the first time. _You have to learn trust again._

_The crown prince is a just person._

As if — it's that easy.

As if —

It's _true._

"I remember," Toris says.

"I didn't ask if you remember. I asked if you _will_ remember."

"I'll try, Ed."

"Will you?"

Toris wishes he could answer right away.

_No, I won't. Because it's not true, and all we need to do is leave._

He can't, though.

… Because, deep down, he has to admit.

His brother might have a …

...

… well, at the very least — being too stubborn would make him vulnerable, and he cannot afford that.

"...I'll try, Eedu."

Eduard lets out a breath, nodding.

Moments later, the door opens to reveal a platinum blond head. Sir Lukas steps out onto the carpet, a silver spear glinting in his right hand.

Toris and Eduard give respectful, careful bows, and Sir Lukas gives a quick bow in return. The way they dance around each other reminds Toris of a wolf stalking its prey — and the cool look Lukas has only cements that impression.

"Toris Laurinaitis," he says. "Your Highness will see you now." His eyes shift to Eduard, and the dark lakes of his eyes almost — ripple.

Toris nods, the collar of his shirt suddenly tight. "Thank you, sir," he says quickly. "I'm honored."

"As am I," Eduard says politely. "Thank you for your time, sir, in seeing my brother. Now if you would please excuse me."

"Go," Lukas says.

Toris and Eduard exchange a quick glance. Toris offers him a quick smile — _leave now_ , it says, _and take care._

Eduard nods shortly.

"I'll see you soon, Toris," he says, his voice buoyant with expectations.

He bows to Sir Lukas, and his light feet carry him swiftly down the hallway and around a corner.

Once the footsteps have faded, Sir Lukas places a hand on the study's golden doorknob.

"The meeting will begin now," he says flatly. "Prepare yourself."

The guard opens the door just enough to see a sliver of cream-colored wall inside. Toris shivers, feeling the weight of the moment and a couple of words pressing heavily onto his shoulders. The time has come. He cannot turn back.

He takes a deep breath, and with light, careful steps, he walks into the study of the crown prince of Pospolita.

The first thing he sees are the bookcases, brown and polished and covering every inch of the back walls with lavishly bound leather volumes. Just one book from there is worth more than his entire life, and the thought makes him woozy.

But his eyes are quickly drawn to a far more lavishly decorated object at the center of the room, and —

When he realizes who it is, he turns bright red and drops into his lowest, most reverent bow.

"Your Highness," Sir Lukas's monotonous voice says. "Toris Laurinaitis has arrived."

The guard announces it plainly, as if what is in front of them is normal.

"Your Highness," Toris forces out. "It's an honor to be here. Thank you for the invitation."

"You're welcome, Laurinaitis," the crown prince says smoothly, nonchalantly, like it's a regular day in a regular building. "You can stand. Lukas, close the door."

Toris stands, still flushed. With that, he gets a better view of the study.

The room is wide and airy, with full floor to ceiling bookcases on each wall. Plush velvet chairs and tables covered with papers are scattered all around. A large window at the back of the room lets in warm rays of sunlight.

The crown prince sits on a brown desk in the middle of the light, and as he lifts chin up, the light catches his blond hair brilliantly. His stockinged legs cross at the knee, and his hands rest in his lap, completing the picture of royal elegance that had stunned Toris so deeply with its reality.

One moment later, the crown prince assesses him from head to toe— and makes an approving noise when he reaches Toris's feet.

"Huh!" He exclaims. "I knew it. Those boots look really good on you. They're _so_ cute."

Toris flushes pink. He spent hours polishing the boots that morning, aiming for just the right amount of shine - and it looks like he struck true, for the crown prince is oohing and aahing like one would at a beautiful bird. "Thank you for the compliment. And thank you for the boots as well," Toris says, more to the head of blond hair than the crown prince. "My brothers and I can't thank you enough."

The crown prince waves the words away. "Don't worry about it," he says. "We have a ton of those things around here. Besides, that's the least we could have given you guys after what you went through."

A flash of discomfort jolts Toris as he's reminded of the day they came to the castle.

He shifts, resists the urge to look down. "Yes. We're very grateful."

The crown prince smiles again. "Heh. Well, I'm glad."

And suddenly, the silence becomes stifling, and Toris does not know what to say.

He must have a strange look on his face, for the crown prince straightens his shoulders and thankfully clears his throat a moment later.

"So," the crown prince says. "Hmm… Hey, have you eaten yet? Are you hungry?"

"Hungry?" Toris echoes. "Well, ah…"

Nervously, he eyes the crown prince.

It could be a trick - an offer of food or drink laced with poison.

But the crown prince looks so calm, so collected. Toris does not want to upset the balance.

Tentatively, he nods.

"I could eat," he says. "...Thank you for asking, your Highness."

Innocently - or perhaps he's just a good actor - the crown prince claps his hands together, grinning. "Good! We'll eat. I baked some totally amazing stuff this morning, and you just have to try it. Lukas!" He says, gesturing wildly to the platinum haired guard. "Get the pączki from the back! … Oh, and feel free to take a seat too, Laurinaitis."

Toris takes a seat in an ornate chair in front of the desk while Sir Lukas strides to one of the back tables. The guard comes back with a covered plate soon after, and moments later Toris finds himself face to face with a golden plate of perfectly round donuts.

The donuts - or, well, pączki - are fluffy and dusted with a snowfall of powdered sugar. The sweet, crisp scent of apples steams off of them, reminding him bittersweetly of home.

They're just like something mama used to make. And though it's been a long, long time since Toris has had his mama's baking - a long time since he's had baked goods in general - he can still tell that the pastries are good just by looking at them.

Lukas sets plates in front of Toris and the chair on the other side of the desk. As soon as he's gone, the crown prince takes a seat on that chair, humming happily.

"These are pączki!" He announces. "They're the most delicious pastry you'll ever have in your whole life."

"Ah, well, they definitely look delicious." For once, the sentiment that comes out of his mouth is true. Toris's mouth waters as gazes at the pączki.

"They sure are! They're my all-time specialty, you know. Go on, take a bite."

The crown prince looks at him eagerly.

Toris grasps one of the pączki and holds it in the palm of his hand. It's warm, like one of the clouds from the summers of his childhood. He could easily devour it in one bite.

But Toris knows that he shouldn't, and that's what makes him hesitate.

Not even a foot away, the crown prince bites into a pączki and makes a noise of approval as he chews. His eyes glimmer with light - and Toris swears that he's actually tearing up.

"Mm!" The crown prince says. "It's so good. This is probably, like, the best pączki I've ever baked."

"I see," Toris says, exhaling.

He'll just take a small bite. Just a very small bite.

So he does.

Immediately, he's hit with the taste of a sweet stick apple filling and fluffy sweet pastry. It's definitely not like mama's baking. But it's warm and pleasant, and… it reminds him of the pastries Iryna used to bake on holidays, actually. Or, maybe… maybe it's slightly _better_ than Iryna's baking.

Toris decides that he needs another bite to confirm which pastry is better. So he takes another small bite. And another. And another.

Until a quarter of the pączki is gone, and Toris is licking powdered sugar off of his fingers.

Yes.

It was definitely better than Iryna's pastries.

"Good, right?" The crown prince asks a moment later, beaming. "Isn't it super amazing?"

"It's delicious. The apple filling is so nice and sweet."

"Yeah, I spent, like, ages trying to get the consistency and flavor right. Same thing with the dough." The crown prince's face twists for a moment. "I'm glad they came out right."

The expression comes so sudden and leaves so fast that Toris knows it cannot be anything but true.

And for some reason - for some reason after seeing that, and looking at the powdered sugar dusting the sides of the crown prince's lips -

Toris smiles.

"You did a good job," he says, and he surprises himself when he realizes he means it.

And he can't tell if it's from the light or if it's from the pączki… either way —

The crown prince's face flushes pink, just as if he's come running back in from the summer rye fields, and he's about to shake grass from his hair.

"Ohh — well, uhm… thank you."

"You're welcome." Toris says.

In that moment, the blond is no longer that knife-cut prince Toris saw in the carriage.

In that moment, Toris can see the crown prince how Eduard must see him — soft. Sweet. Boyish.

And it feels strangely real.

They sit in silence for a few moments.

The crown prince eats another pączki, sprinkles of powdered sugar flying onto his cheeks. And Toris, barely a foot away from him, watches, scooping the remaining powdered sugar off of his plate with a finger and licking it experimentally.

He knows that everything is not as it seems. But at this moment, the crown prince is just as he is: a boy.

And it's strange.

Intimate, even.

Like warm cotton has been stuffed into his heart.

It's quaint.

It's… nice.

Just as Eduard said it would be.

Toris isn't one to take chances.

But.

...For a moment, he toys with the thought of everything that could be.

Everything that it seems.

And…

…

….

…..

Well, he doesn't know for certain.

He's wary.

... He's still wary, but…

…

Bit by bit, his back melts into the plush chair.

After some time, there are only two pączki left on the golden plate.

The crown prince's plate is covered in powdered sugar and crumbs. As he finishes the last bite of his last pączki, he leans back in his chair and yawns. A hand goes to rub the back of his neck, and Toris finds himself somehow reassured by it.

"Ahh!" The crown prince sighs, bringing his hand to his lap. "I'm stuffed. I can't eat another bite… what about you, Laurinaitis? Want another?"

Toris thinks of his remaining donut sadly, hungrily. He could easily eat the two pączki left on the golden plate. But he's not an idiot — he has enough of his head to know not to risk anything.

And yet…

He does not want to risk upsetting the crown prince.

"Well…" he says. "I'll eat another later."

"Huh?" The crown prince asks, tilting his head to the side. "Why not now? You only had like, three bites of that one."

Toris thinks for a moment.

"It's so delicious… I want to savor it for a long time," is what he says.

The crown prince smiles.

"Can't argue against that," he says. "Whatever you say. If you get hungry, though, feel free totally to just take one."

"Thank you again—"

"Don't mention it."

Toris nods, then takes a small bite of his pączki.

That was true, too. What he said about savoring — though it wasn't just about the food.

Because as Toris looks at the crown prince's boyish face, it almost feels as though they are just regular kids that are sharing a lunch together. The last time he felt this way was years and years ago — back when he still lived with his mama, and things were still bright and clean and beautiful.

With this atmosphere it's hard to imagine any ill intent creeping from the shadows. Now, there's just the warmth and humming under the yellow beams of sunlight.

The crown prince swipes his finger in a mound of powdered sugar and licks it lazily — and Toris leans back in the ornate chair.

Somehow, things feel calm.

If he was another person, maybe he would let it be calm.

But he isn't.

And -

Despite the calm, and everything Eduard said, and the way the crown prince collects another dab of sugar on his finger -

A voice at the back of Toris's head refuses to be silent.

 _Toris,_ the voice whispers. _Toris, don't be foolish._

 _Something is_ strange.

And he knows it's right.

For an hour has passed, and the crown prince has still not told Toris why he was summoned to the study.

If it was just a meeting to eat donuts, then surely the crown prince would have said something by now. He has no reason to not say anything - there are no disadvantages to talking politely with your subjects.

Unless, of course, that is not what he intended to do.

Toris knows his brother means well,

But he can't shake the thought of the crown prince strategizing while licking sugar off of his fingers.

Outside, the sun sets orange down the horizon. Stalks of new wheat shift in the fields, their shadows stretching long across the sea of fresh green. Soon, springtime will be over, and summer will come in full and ripe. And the wheat will turn golden with it.

_As the wind blows over the hills -_

_We, too, must go,_ Toris thinks.

He focuses his eyes on the crown prince.

And he breathes.

"The wheat looks lovely," Toris comments when the crown prince has stopped eating.

Sugar drifts carelessly from the crown prince's fingers onto the desk, but he pays it no mind. Instead, he nods, glancing briefly outside the window. "I know, right? I love it. Ah… This is always my favorite part of spring."

"I can see why…"

"Right? It's so pretty." The crown prince hums. "Especially with the way everything catches the light. That green - it's totally unbelievable, right? The way it's light green one moment, and emerald green the next. … Can you believe that was all soil just a few weeks ago? Every single one of those plants?"

"It's hard to believe," Toris says. "...Ahh, it's amazing how nature can create such beauty out of something so ... small."

His voice is quiet.

Even so, the crown prince must catch something that he likes in it - for his eyes glimmer, something ringing beneath their depths, and he smiles.

"Heh. If you think this is beautiful, you should have seen the harvest from two years ago. That was like, the biggest harvest we've ever had."

"Ah, really?"

"Yeah! That year, there was more wheat than we've ever seen before. I mean, we gave a lot to the citizens, 'course, and we sold some, too, but… there was still a lot leftover. I was eating pastries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for months."

"That must have been delicious," Toris says. His stomach growls at the thought.

"It was," says the crown prince. "It's a shame you didn't see it. It was just… totally amazing."

Toris can imagine it easily: mounds of wheat sitting in a warm silo somewhere, ready to be baked into golden loaves of bread that would come to rest on golden plates in palaces. It would be fine bread, good bread. The kind of bread that leaves your stomach and heart full - that bread.

"I wish I could have been there," Toris says truthfully.

He expects the crown prince to nod in agreement like he's been doing the whole time - to keep the conversation going, to keep it light-hearted.

But the crown prince's face stills.

And when he speaks a second later, his voice struggles to remain light.

"...Maybe you can see this year's harvest, Laurinaitis."

And Toris can hear it underneath.

That wavering current of nervousness.

And it makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

As the crown prince pushes the golden plate to the side, flecks of sugar from the desk rise and cling to his velvet sleeves. He steeples his fingers - and without hesitation, he meets Toris's eyes. The green-eyed prince tries to keep his face summery and clear — but it's still, too still, and all Toris can see underneath it something like how flowers wilt when they've sat in vases too long.

Toris Laurinaitis isn't an idiot. It had to come eventually.

But that doesn't stop a pit from sinking to the bottom of his stomach.

"What do you mean, your Highness?" Toris asks, sitting straight.

The crown prince's eyes are unflinching.

"You could come here during the harvest," he says softly, the words curling softly with the roundabout. "Just to see everything..."

"W-well," Toris stutters. Even if it is a ploy, the offer is still something extraordinary from the crown prince - and he flushes, hot and cold all at once. "Your Highness, I — I don't know how to thank you for the invitation."

He can't express anything right now. Can't thank, can't think.

There's just those green eyes. The fluttering nervousness in his stomach.

And maybe a fleeting thought.

That things aren't really what they seem, and boys can just be boys who eat paczki in the sunlight.

The crown prince straightens his shoulders. He gestures with a lily white hand to Toris, and Toris see the remaining flecks of sugar on them, lingering like ghosts.

"You don't need to thank me," the crown prince says, waving the words away. "Just visit."

He pauses.

"Unless…

…you have something else going on then."

And Toris goes numb.

"I would be honored to come," he says, trying to dodge the question. "The fields would be beautiful."

"That's totally awesome," the crown prince says, smiling for a moment. "You should bring Eduard and Raivis and anyone else that you know, too."

"I'll ask them," he lies, keeping his face neutral.

He won't even breach the subject.

"I'm, like, so glad." The green-eyed prince says, a slight hum to his words. He shifts in his seat, rolls a delicate wrist. "The more the merrier and all that, right?"

"Yes."

There's a pause.

At the end of the crown prince's asked question lies a question of unspoken implication, but Toris refuses to be weak. Even already, he's said too much.

The room seems to narrow as the late afternoon casts shadows around the room. The crown prince's hair becomes a dusty, tarnished gold — his eyes, emerald and sharp, become striking in the dark light.

Watching. Waiting.

Prying.

The paczki in Toris's stomach turn hard and cold, and he regrets eating them. He adjusts himself, trying to catch a ray of sunlight and ward off a sudden chill.

The crown prince studies him a bit.

"Don't worry about housing or anything like that. If they need a place to stay, they can totally come to me. You guys can stay here in the castle again or something."

"Oh— thank you, your Highness. We appreciate the offer very much."

The crown prince's eyebrows furrow together.

Some part of Toris wants to smooth away those creases - to turn them butter smooth like he does when Raivis gets nervous.

He knows he can't.

Stil.

It aches a bit.

…

Outside, the wheat fields rustle a bit with the breeze of a late afternoon wind.

"Okay," the crown prince says in a low and serious tone. "We should get it all out in the open now, shouldn't we?"

"What do you mean, your Highness?" Toris asks.

His breath catches on the tail end of Highness— like maybe if it doesn't come out correctly, it won't be true, and he won't have to think about it.

The crown prince, though, is very much real and very much in front of him.

He is real, because he parts his very real mouth and moves his very real lips, and the green-eyed prince says, "I think we both know that this isn't just about a summer harvest."

There's an excruciating pause.

And a ringing bursts in Toris's ears as he realizes it's what he thought all along.

His voice flutters weakly, croaking with nervousness. "I beg your pardon, your Highness, b-but—"

" _No._ " The crown prince says, setting his green-eyed, knife-cut face firmly. "You didn't, and we both know it. So we can drop the act now, okay? Because now, what I really want to know is… what _happened_ that day?"

What happened?

As if — as if he can just _explain it._

He _can't._

The world falls from its axis —

And Toris feels rain beating on his skin, and a trickle of something warm down his neck.

"We were just going to do some errands," Is the explanation his mouth trods out. "That's all."

"What type of errands?"

"Buying food at the market."

"In the rain?"

"Yes. It wasn't — it was nice that day."

There were puddles and flowers blooming along the sides of the road. Puddles, and flowers, and a great, spreading petal of metallic red.

_It was a nice day._

"If you didn't have to walk far."

"Y-yes, your Highness."

"How far is your house from the market?"

"Not far. Only a few streets away."

"What street?"

"Ahh… Rose."

"...Rose Street, huh?"

"Yes."

"That's still pretty far."

"We walk to the market most of the time, so it wasn't so bad. And it was mostly drizzling that day, too… a little drizzle isn't so bad, either. It only became a pain when it started pouring."

Just a small pain. Nothing terrible. Nothing —

_slipslidecrackcrunchbloodbloodbloodblood_

— terrible at all.

"So you walked in the rain to buy food."

"Yes, your Highness."

"And it was _only_ to get food."

"Yes, your Highness."

"Then why did I find you bruised and bleeding and with _broken bones_ in the middle of the street?"

"I — we — there was an accident."

That's what it was. An accident. _That's what it was._

"Well, obviously."

"It wasn't bad. There was a puddle, and I slipped in it."

"A _puddle_?"

"Well — we were running to the market."

"Running. To the market. In the rain."

"Yes, your Highness."

"...Why?"

"They were selling some limited items, and I wanted to get to them first."

"...So you ran."

"Yes, your Highness."

"And somehow, you slipped in a puddle."

"Yes, your Highness."

"And that one slip was enough to bruise your jaw and break your left ankle, which led you here to Lipska Castle."

"Yes, your Highness."

The crown prince's face is so very still.

Toris prays.

 _Please,_ he thinks, clasping his hands together and digging his nails discreetly into the palms of his hand, _please, please, please —_

"...Laurinaitis." the crown prince finally says.

"Yes, your Highness?"

The crown prince rubs his temple, and suddenly his face turns dark with the shadow of his hand.

"Come _on_. You expect me to believe that you banged yourself up that badly by _slipping_ on the street?"

A wave of cold air rushes through his body. Toris barely holds back a strangled cry as the truth and its implication sets in: _he doesn't believe me._

_He doesn't believe me, and now he's going to kill me._

"Yes," Toris insists, sitting up straight, forcing back the nervous wave in his heart. "That's what happened."

That's what the crown prince needs to think. Because if he doesn't think that, then it's true. And if it's true, that means Toris was there. And if Toris was there —

He can't survive.

… not like that.

Toris nods again, on the edge of frantic.

It was what happened. It _has to be._

The crown prince sighs slowly, like a predator tired of the chase. Toris tucks himself closer against the back of the chair, watching, waiting.

_If I distract him, I can run out of the room and down to the medical ward, and then —_

"That's not the truth, is it?"

The voice is so quiet that Toris doesn't believe he's heard correctly at first. It must be the rustle of a wind, or the creak of the door.

But the pink lips in front of him move as the words flow, so it must somehow be true.

"I— … I beg your pardon, your Highness?"

"That's not the truth, isn't it."

"No, it isn't, your Highness, I _am_ telling the truth—"

"And _I_ know a lie when I hear one," the crown prince retorts. He rubs his temple with an agitated hand, darting his gaze to the corner of his desk. "You're not telling the truth at _all_. Dammit, Laurinaitis, I just—"

He runs a hand roughly through his tarnished hair, wincing as he undoes a tangle of small knots. Some blond strands fall loosely to the table, baby fine and delicate. They shake with the table for a moment — for underneath, the crown prince bounces his legs.

Toris's blood goes cold.

"What I told you was completely honest, your Majesty," he says, hands shaking. "I apologize—"

"No, no, don't apologize. Don't — just — you're fine, okay, Laurinaitis? You're fine." A pause. "You're _fine_."

His weary tone suggests metal and rust and stinging, and Toris shuts up, fear knotting gruesomely in his belly.

_What is he doing? What punishment? When? How?_

_Why?_

He was too naive, and now he was going to pay for it —

The blond head snaps up.

And strangely, the bearer does not scream.

He sighs.

"It's not your fault," he says.

A weary, faded smile covers the agitated purse that had stretched over his lips just moments before.

The crown prince continues on, unaware of what he's done — or maybe he is, and he's toying with the fun of it. "I just — things would be easier if you told the truth."

"That is what happened," Toris repeats. "I fell."

It's all he can say. The soft pink curve of the crown prince's mouth — the upward curve — distracts him.

And so does the unreality of the moment — moving up his feet, tangling the clouds in his head.

How many times has the crown prince pulled this facade? How many times has he faked the smile on his face?

And now — he does it again?

 _There must be a reason for this. He's trying to do something. What? And why? Why again and again and_ again —

The crown prince's mouth drops.

"I wanna believe you," he says. "I really do. But I can't."

Toris wants to ask why.

He wants to ask what he did wrong. Why the crown prince is pretending so seriously, like it all really matters — like he means the things that he says.

But then the crown prince says, "Lukas!"

The guard's cool voice floats lowly over. "Yes?"

"It's time."

The crown prince gives Toris a look, and Toris realizes that the curve of his lips is dragged down by pity.

"Laurinaitis," he says softly, "I'm s… I have to do this."

Toris's eyes widen.

"Your Highn—"

The crown prince gestures to the double doors with a jerk of his head.

The words die in Toris's mouth, and something else takes their place as he fully realizes the gravity of what is happening.

_No—_

"Lukas." The crown prince says. "Go get Laurinaitis's brother."

"My brother?" Toris croaks.

The crown prince nods slowly.

Behind Toris, the door opens and clicks shut.

And with it, everything else is drowned out besides the way the breath leaves the crown prince's mouth.

What does he want with — with _Eduard?_

What if he — what if he _hurts_ him?

Or maybe — maybe that what was he was planning to do all along?

Toris can't breathe.

"—won't take long, so don't, like, worry, it'll be okay, just wait—"

_I have to get out. I have to get us out._ _**I have to get us out.** _

"—only a few questions. You can stay in the room, if you want. That'd be good—"

 _What does he want? What does he want?_ How _do I get us out?_

"—otocol, to make sure that nothing bad—"

_I'm sorry, Eduard. I'm so sorry._

"This is for the good of everyone."

_You said to believe you, but I can't._

"I'm sure you did nothing wro—"

_It's not possible._

"—understand. I'm not trying to hurt you, I just have to make sure—"

_It's_

"—that—"

_Too_

"—we're—"

_Good_

"—all—"

_To_

"—gonna be—"

_Be_

"— _safe_ —

—

—Oh, there they are. Bring him over here, Lukas!"

Sir Lukas and Eduard walk over to the desk.

Toris turns. A wave of fear washes over him when he spots calm-faced Eduard. Calm-faced, naive, and _gullible_ Eduard, Eduard who will not look at him — Eduard who keeps his eyes firmly on the green-eyed crown prince.

"Your Highness," the blond says, dropping into a smooth bow. "I'm honored."

The crown prince smiles. "You're welcome," he says breezily. "And thank you for sticking around."

Toris freezes

_Sticking around?_

He looks at Eduard.

His brother looks normal.

Happy, even.

Happy, and _yet —_

"Take a seat, er… Laurinaitis."

"Ah — it's von Bock," Eduard says.

The crown prince raises an eyebrow. "Von Bock?"

"My brothers and I have different fathers."

"Huh. Interesting."

"Indeed."

Eduard sits down, smoothing out the wrinkles in his pants. The crown prince beckons to Sir Lukas and whispers something in his ear — and Toris takes the opportunity to tug at Eduard's sleeve.

"What are you _doing_?" Toris whispers. "I _asked you_ to go back to the ward."

For a brief moment, Eduard says nothing.

And it's in that moment that Toris knows.

"...Ed. Don't tell me that you did this.

...Don't tell me that you planned this whole thing."

Eduard looks at him pleadingly. "Just trust me."

"I— _Eduard_ , don't you know what you've done?"

"Toris, _trust_ me."

"How _can I?_ "

"Just _try._ It will make sense later, I promise."

"No, no it _won't,_ " Toris whispers frantically. "Eduard, we'll all be _dead_ by then." Eduard's face curdles, and Toris knows he has no time to waste. "Listen to me: I fell on the way to the market. That's what happened, remember? I fell. _Remember that I fell._ "

Eduard swallows.

— the crown prince turns back to them, smiling politely at Eduard, and Toris turns away from Eduard sharply

 _His own brother._ Working with a prince that seems to be kind, that seems to be so many things that they cannot confirm —

His head is pounding.

_A blossom of blood across the pavement._

_His ankle bursts, and he screams._

The crown prince focuses his cat-like eyes on Eduard just like he did to Toris an hour before. His eyes are just as kind-seeming as they were then— and it throws Toris's stomach a little, to see how easily the crown prince falls into that foreign role. "I just got a few questions to ask you, von Bock," he says sweetly, sickeningly. "It won't take long, mkay?"

"Of course. Ask away, your Highness."

The crown prince hesitates.

Glances at Toris, as if he's testing him — as if he's waiting for some sort of reaction.

When he gets none, he speaks.

"Why did you guys come to Lipska Castle?"

It rings hollowly through the crowded room.

Toris, praying, looks at Eduard out of the corner of his eye. _I fell. I fell. I fell._

But Eduard doesn't look at him. He doesn't seem to be aware of anything besides the crown prince.

He takes a deep breath.

 _I_ fell, _Eduard._

"Well… we… we were leaving our home."

And it sounds so innocent.

It sounds so _true._

But Toris knows his brother —

And he knows the deep breath Eduard takes after he says it as well as the back of his hand.

It's a waver of determination.

_No._

_God,_ no.

"Why?" The crown prince asks, leaning forward towards Eduard.

There's another moment of hesitation.

One more, and Toris knows that Eduard will break.

"We… well, we—"

Eduard takes a deep breath.

" _Wewererunningawayfromhome._ "

At first, the words are too mumbled for Toris to make out.

But he thinks on them —

And then his eyes go wide.

_No._

_No._

_No no nonoNO_

"Running away from home?" The crown prince asks, tilting his head to the side. "But Laurinaitis said you guys were just going to the market." He looks at Toris pointedly.

Toris straightens up. "Because we were," he says, nodding, barely breathing. His mouth has clogged up with cotton, and all he can think about is— "That's what we were doing. We were running to the market."

"No — no, we _weren't_ running to the market."

Toris's hands start shaking.

"Well… we weren't at the beginning. We started running when we realized we were going to be late."

"Is that true, von Bock?" The crown prince asks, tilting his head to the side.

There's still time. There's still time for Eduard. He just has to deny it. Deny it, and pretend it doesn't exist, and forget completely about that man —

"We weren't," Eduard insists. He looks at the crown prince with wide eyes. "Your Highness, please forgive my brother. He's in s-shock. What he's saying isn't true — we weren't running away for that _._ "

 _Yes we were,_ Toris wants to scream, _we were, we were!_

They weren't doing anything else. They couldn't have been doing anything else. They were just kids, and —

The crown prince furrows his eyebrows. "Then what were you running away from?"

A man. A monster.

Toris can't speak.

Eduard hesitates. His face has become pale — his glasses have slipped down his nose, revealing the blue of an open sky.

"It… well… in that house, we lived with a man."

"A man?"

"Yes."

"Was he… your dad? Or another relative?"

"No," Eduard says. "No, no he wasn't."

The crown prince sits back in his chair. His eyes have turned wide — wide and looking for vulnerabilties, and piercing into naive, gullible Eduard, who doesn't know what he's saying —

Someone needs to stop what _he's saying —_

"So who was he?" The crown prince presses.

A metal pipe slams into the ground.

_Come with me, little one._

_There are so many bad people in this world._

_You need someone to protect you._

—metal in his mouth, he can't feel anything besides the red, and—

"He was… a man who did many things. You could call him a businessman."

"What business did he do?"

Dead of night, knife in hand, Toris sneaks around the brick wall and spots the victim. A young boy, just like him.

Cold hand pressing to his neck. _"Yes. Him."_

_You want to save your brothers, don't you, knight?_

"Many things," Eduard says, closing his eyes. He takes a breath. "Things that I can't repeat here."

"Of course you can. We aren't going to hurt you, you know."

"No, but he might."

Another bruise to wrap a bandage around, another bit of tooth to spit out, another piece of cotton to suck out the bad blood. Sitting in the bath, soaking — the calluses on his hands split open and rub themselves raw.

Hours and hours, staring. And staring. And staring. And those cold eyes. The deep purple. The darkness.

The way they look at Raivis and Eduard, like a wolf waiting to sink its fangs into the prey.

The way they glint when the two boys cry.

"...don't be silly. He can't hurt you here."

"That's what he wants you to think, your Highness. He's good at that. At manipulating, and…"

"And what, von Bock?"

"I…"

Red on pavement.

"Tell me."

A glint of green eyes.

Eduard's shoulders shaking.

Rust, and a dark room, and scuttling in the corner

"I won't hurt you," says a soft voice.

 _I won't hurt you,_ said that man.

Trust.

Trust?

No.

Red and red and red and red and burst of flesh and bone and

SMACK

and

"...That man —

That man, your Highness.

That man is terribly,

Terribly,

Cruel.

That was why we ran away.

He's monstrous

And terrible.

He yelled at us if we did anything right,

And beat us if we did anything wrong.

And he"

Lily white hands cover a pink mouth

"Did terrible"

The hands fall away, and the pink mouth trembles open

"Things"

The hands

"To"

Move

"My"

To

"Brothers"

Eduard

Eduard

Eduard

EDUARD

" _Don't touch him!_ "

The words tears their way through his throat and

Suddenly he's standing between Eduard and the crown prince, staring wildly at the green-eyed fiend, the green-eyes fiend who pretends to be kind, the green-eyed fiend who wants so badly to hurt

— _donthurtdonthurtdonthurt_ — him, and

There's a spear at his chest and Eduard is yelling, tugging him back, and

Eduard

Eduard

Edua

"Your Highness—" Comes out of his throat in a choked gasp and

"Don't — just don't, don't, do not—"As a little boy with a book comes crying to him and clings to his leg and

" _Don't touch him!_ " As a cold pale white hand punches the glasses off of the little boy's face and

Toris shoves the spear away from Eduard, fights the choking gasps, and he tries and tries and tries and tries and _tries because all he wants is_

The green-eyed prince staring at him with wide eyes and sugar on his fingers and

"You can do whatever you want with me," Toris says, heaving, "just please, please, _please, don't_ _touch him_ , don't touch any of them, please just leave them alone. I'll do anything at all, if please, please, _please, your Highness_ —"

He takes a large, shuddering gasp and

The spear points into his chest but

All he can hear is Eduard yelling and

He just

All he wants

Is the one thing

He's been scared of all along

" _Don't hurt my brothers, your Highness,_ please."

A deep quiet settles in the room.

There's nothing besides Toris's chest bobbing up and down, and Eduard's unsteady breaths, and the great beautiful terror of love.

And the crown prince.

Pale and wide-eyed, looking at Toris like he's seen him for the very first time.

Him.

Laurinaitis.

And that's all Toris wants —

Even if it kills him.

As long as they're safe.

Their eye contact continues for an eternity. There's nothing else in the world besides them.

Until a firework of noise goes off in the background.

"Toris! Toris, sit down! Oh, your Highness, please forgive my brother, he's in shock, he's not thinking correctly, he—"

"Feliks—" And the spear points sharper into his chest, bringing Toris back to reality as he squirms and sweats and heaves as he wonders _oh god oh god oh god how do I get out of this,_ "—Feliks _leave_ —"

And Toris expects the crown prince to agree — to nod wildly and scream and point at him, and order his head chopped off, because that's what these types of people always do —

But the crown prince continues staring at him.

Looking inside him.

As if — as if he's seeing something that Toris himself doesn't know about —

And before Toris can process it or even act —

He speaks.

"I get you now, Laurinaitis."

His voice shakes, but it's resolute.

…

… And the _knowing_ of it freezes Toris against the tip of Sir Lukas's spear.

"W-what do you mean?"

"I get it. I get all of it. The way you talk and act and _everything."_ The crown prince sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "I should have seen it sooner, honestly. But you're sneaky."

The crown prince's eyes melt into him, like warm honey.

Toris's legs tremble against the casualness of them.

"You don't," he chokes out, pushing against something bile and warm rising up his throat. "You couldn't."

"But I do," the crown prince insists. "I really do."

"Then — explain it. How do you think I feel?"

The crown prince fiddles with a strand of his hair, twirling it between his slim fingers. He averts his eyes to the desk.

He doesn't speak for a long while.

Until his lofty gaze meets Toris —

And his eyes burn like the embers of a fresh fire.

"...I think you're afraid of me."

The bile in Toris's throat chokes him.

Because it's —

_It's —_

"No — never." He says, trying to bluff. But it's useless. He knows it won't work.

Because the crown prince's ember eyes have solidified into the clear cut of a cat knife.

"You are. I know you are. Jumping in front of Eduard, and asking me not to touch him — and that whole thing with the market and the pączki Everything about you… you're scared of me."

"I - no, no," Toris says, because everything is so uncomfortably close to the truth and he needs to lead it away, lead it all away, "I'm not, I... I was nervous when we were eating the paçkzi."

"Too nervous to finish _one_ donut?"

"I didn't want to seem greedy."

"Even when I told you that you could eat as many as you wanted?"

"Ahh — yes. I didn't want to be disrespectful, your Highness."

The crown prince snaps his fingers. "And that's the problem with you, Laurinaitis. You're too _polite._ Everything's _yes your Highness, no your Highness_ with you. You never talk about yourself. You never talk about your brothers - it's like everything you do is made to make the least trouble possible. Like… you lied about how injured you were. You only ate one pączki. You said that you would ask your brothers if they want to come to the harvest or not, as if they'll _really_ pass up the opportunity. You got the chance to tell _me,_ the crown prince of your _kingdom_ , about this horrible man that Eduard talked about — and you told me about running to the market, and how _you_ slipped, and how _you_ broke your ankle and crushed your jaw to hell and back again. As if it was all _your_ fault."

"No," Toris protests.

But it only comes out as a whisper.

"Because you want it to be, don't you?" The crown prince continues, stronger now. "You want it to be all on you. Because… if it's your fault…

"Raivis and Eduard don't get hurt by the scary prince, right?"

"I- That's not-"

"No, it's right. I'm totally right. I saw how you act around your brothers, Laurinaitis. Like when we were in the carriage, and you moved your ankle wrong. You told Raivis that everything was okay when it wasn't… and just now, when I was talking to Eduard. You jumped in front of him when I was about to touch him. Even though nothing would have happened. If everything was okay, and if you were totally fine… why wouldn't you let me touch him, Laurinaitis? What did you think I would do?"

Toris tries to tell the crown prince that he's wrong. That it's all false - that they all live normally and happily.

But all that comes out is a shuddering breath.

Because, deep down, Toris knows that everything the crown prince says is right.

And the crown prince knows it, too.

"So I just… I get it, Laurinaitis. I understand. All you wanna do is protect yourself and your brothers, right? Because it's… it's a really, really scary world out there."

_It is._

The world is full of people who lie and steal and kill for the fun of it, just because they can, because they like it. It is full of people who are cruel without rhyme or reason. It is full of terrible, disgusting, _evil_ people with dark metal eyes and cold hands that never seem to feel warm, that can give life and take it away in an instant…

...that once offered three poor orphans with nothing but the clothes on their backs a home.

…

The world is so awful.

The world is so _cruel._

To just rip away their lives like that — to kill all kindness.

He nods.

"...The world is full of terrifying things," he says (admits) softly.

The crown prince looks at him pityingly. A sad smile waters across his face.

"Laurinaitis?"

"...Yes, your Highness?"

The crown prince looks him flush in the face.

"Lukas, take the spear off," he commands.

The hint of a grimace crosses Sir Lukas's face.

"Feliks -"

"Lukas, take the spear off."

Slowly, reluctantly, Sir Lukas does. Toris looks down and catches a hint of blood blooming across his chest. The sight bewilders him - but he does not think about it for long.

For the crown prince speaks.

"Laurinaitis…" the young prince says, "...are you listening to me?"

"Yes, your Highness…"

"Okay. Don't stop. Because I want to tell you this." The crown prince takes a deep breath. "... I wasn't lying that day when I said you guys don't deserve to die out in the streets. I really meant that. And I still mean it. Because you're human, just like me, and you have as much of a right to live a full life as I do. I don't care what that terrible man did. He was wrong. You guys are all important. That means you, Toris Laurinaitis - and you too, Eduard von Bock. You matter, okay?

"So I want you to know that, um… as your crown prince, and as a person… I would never, ever hurt you. I mean it. I know you might not believe me, because you guys are scared. But I've been scared before, too. And I know that when you're scared… everything around you seems worse than it really is when it's actually fine.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise… so… try to believe me. Even if it's only for a second."

The crown prince lifts his chin up. It shakes a little.

Even so, the wash of the golden light over his head makes him look like a king.

And a part of him is terrified.

That part of him is trembling. Praying. Thinking of ten thousand and one strategies to get his brothers out of Lipska Castle as soon as possible — to escape from an early demise.

And yet... despite everything.

There's another part of him, too.

A part that thinks of that first day in the carriage - the crown prince, brushing Sir Lukas's hair ever so gently. The crown prince, smiling at him from the seat across. Worrying over his ankle. Offering some of his best paczki. Telling him that he won't hurt him or his brothers.

Reassuring Toris of the thing that scares him the most.

…

Fear.

It's been a long time since he's thought of that old word, but it's been festering inside him for a long time.

Because the crown prince is right.

There's always fear. Fear that someone will hurt his brothers. Fear that someone will hurt him.

And it would be so easy for the crown prince to take advantage of it.

He would only need to make the slightest gesture of his head to cast Eduard von Bock and his trembling brother Toris into work in the castle, for however long he wishes. He could imprison them. He could banish them. He could execute them, even. All of this he could do with fear, and with his knowledge of it.

But he does not.

He gives his word -

And he seems to understand.

…

Toris looks across the table. At the crown prince, who has such a soft, pleading look in his eyes. It's a look that Toris recognizes as hope.

The thought of an expression like that on someone like the crown prince is hard to think about.

He's not even sure, really, that he fully understands it.

But Toris thinks back to Eduard's words.

About the fact that not all men are evil - about the fact that some are kind, and good. That they should not shut out others because of the actions of one.

They're familiar. Very familiar.

As familiar as an old man who lives down the road and spits everywhere when he talks.

…

Toris takes a deep breath. The smell of sweet apples and sugar fills his nostrils, and he breathes. It's clean and pleasant, and it feels right.

The rightness of it all clicks with him.

And it's then Toris allows himself to think that maybe, just maybe…

The crown prince really is kind.

...At the very least, he does not intend on hurting Toris's brothers immediately.

It's not a guarantee, nor is it a complete fix.

But it's just enough to relax Toris's back -

And allow him to take a few steps away from Eduard.

"...You won't hurt them?" Toris asks warily, keeping his eyes focused on the crown prince.

"Never." The blond prince answers.

"Do you swear it?"

"I promise."

"So this whole meeting…"

"Was so I could find out what you guys were doing here, to make sure if you were like, bad or not," the crown prince says. Sir Lukas nods along.

"It's royal protocol," the guard says when Toris glances at him.

Toris nods slowly. He turns back to the crown prince, who shifts in his seat a little.

"Well, it was that… and it was _also_ because you look like you need some fattening up."

Behind him, Eduard makes a choking noise at the same time that Sir Lukas groans.

"'Fattening up'?" Sir Lukas asks.

The crown prince shrugs helplessly, his cheeks flushing apple red.

"What? C'mon, Lukaszek - you _can't_ look at him and tell me that he's not as thin as a rake."

Sir Lukas rolls his eyes, but he doesn't deny it.

It could have been worded more diplomatically, Toris has to admit, but it's a kind gesture, and it's one that he truly appreciates. It burrows deep into Toris's heart, settling in with the multitude of other kindnesses the crown prince has shown him… and as it does, his stomach warms pleasantly with the memory of those sugar-coated delights.

"Ah… well, I enjoyed them," Toris admits, his cheeks flushing a light pink.

The crown prince's eyes light up. "If I ever bake some more, you gotta take some, then."

"I will, please."

"You don't even have to ask."

The crown prince grins.

And for the first time that day, Toris finds himself smiling back. Not as a sheep to a wolf, or a peasant to prince -

But as a boy to a boy.

Satisfied, Toris takes a seat in the chair next to Eduard, who wipes the tears from his eyes with his thumb. His heart pangs at the sight of it - his younger brother, scared and crying because of _him._

"Eedu-" he begins, but Eduard shakes his head.

"You don't need to say anything. I understand."

"I'm sorry… for all of this."

"It's okay." Eduard takes off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the bottom of his shirt. "You did what your instincts needed to do. You wouldn't be able to help it even if you tried." He places the glasses on. They glint in the sunlight as he turns to Toris. "I'm glad it ended in our favor."

"Are you-"

"Don't worry yourself over it," Eduard says with a smile.

"Okay," Toris says. They know it's a lie - he'll worry himself to death it - but the pleasantries are important. And there are more important things to think of, now.

Eduard beats him to it. "Do you have anything else to ask of us?" He asks the crown prince.

The crown prince shakes his head, thankfully. "No. Like I said… it's only to know if you guys are criminals, or something like that. I don't think you are, so… you're free to go, if you wish."

Toris sighs in relief. "Thank you, your Highness."

"Don't mention it."

Suddenly, the crown prince furrows his eyebrows.

"Wait… actually, there _is_ something that I have to ask you. Nothing bad," he quickly adds, seeing Toris's expression. "Just… where are you going to _go_ after this?"

Toris and Eduard exchange a heavy look.

"Well… I don't really know," Toris says, pursing his lips.

"Somewhere far from here?" Eduard adds. "Tule or the Fjordlands, perhaps? As long as we can avoid... that man."

Toris sighs. "That seems like our best option."

Ivan Zimavich would upturn every stone in Pospolita to find them. If not him, then it would be the other members of the family - for there would surely be a hefty bounty on their heads by now. Either way, they wouldn't be safe anywhere in the entire kingdom. They would have to leave immediately, to the two places that Ivan Zimavich had no control over - or, god forbid, face the other end of that blood-stained metal pipe.

And Toris did not intend on bloodying himself any longer.

The crown prince's eyes widen. "Wait - wait. Don't tell me that you plan on leaving Pospolita. Are you crazy?"

"We have no other option, your Highness," Eduard says.

"But Tule is going through the worst inflation it's ever seen! And there's practically nothing to find in the Fjordlands!"

Toris grimaces. "Either way, it'll be far better than suffering under that man."

The crown prince leans back in his chair, stunned. "You guys can't go there," he says. "You'd be killing yourselves. What are you gonna do? Work the skin off your hands every day to earn a little bit of money for a little bit of food, and then die of starvation?"

"We'll manage," Toris says. "We always do."

"Oh, really? Well, what if that man decides to go to Tule or the Fjordlands, and he finds you there?"

There's a pregnant pause.

"He wouldn't," Eduard says. "He doesn't… he doesn't care for us that much…"

But his voice falters at the end, because Toris knows that he and his brother are thinking about the same thing: the fact that Ivan Zimavich cares about his business.

And the fact that he never wants any of it to slip away from him.

Toris clenches his fists. "There are so many things to think about," he murmurs. _Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Gods, why?_ "Gods…"

He can't let his brothers fall back into Ivan Zimavich's hands. Not after they worked so hard to escape. Not after they're touching freedom with the tips of their hands.

But there are no other options - whatever Toris thinks about has flaws. If he stays in Pospolita, he gets caught by Ivan Zimavich. If he moves to Tule or to the Fjordlands, he becomes paranoid for the rest of his life, always waiting, always wondering if that day would be the day that the blood-stained man finally caught up with him.

It's impossible. Any way he thinks of is impossible.

"Wait," the crown prince interjects. "Wait, I think I have an idea."

Toris furrows his eyebrows. "What is it, your Highness?"

The crown prince hesitates.

"...Okay. This is gonna sound totally crazy, but… how about you guys stay here at Lipska Castle and work as servants?"

"Servants?" Eduard echoes.

"Um… yeah. Sorry, we don't have any better job positions open…"

" _For the royal family?_ " Toris says.

The crown prince looks at him strangely. "Uh, yeah. Do you… do you guys have a problem with that?"

"No, no, of course not," Eduard says. "It's just -"

He falls silent, and Toris fills in the gaps: "Your Highness… that's a great honor you've offered us."

Working at Lipska Castle is something Toris would have never thought possible. It is the highest of the high, the most honored of honors - and it is something that a poor peasant boy like him would never, ever deserve.

But the crown prince nods feverently. "Yes! You know, we always need more people to work in the scullery. You can scrub floors, or help in the kitchen, or… something. But see - this way, you'll be safe. You'll be able in the castle all day, and you won't need to leave unless you really want to… and if you want to leave, I can have Lukas come with you so that man doesn't try to attack you or anything like that. You'll be totally safe here with us."

Toris's breaths come slowly, so small and far apart that he hardly feels like he is breathing at all.

"...Your Highness," he whispers. "Your Highness, are you…"

"I'm sure," the crown prince says resolutely, surely, his eyes glistening with a determined spark. "I'm the most totally sure that I've ever been in my life. Listen… you'll be safe here with us, Laurinaitis. You and your brothers. We'll do anything in our power to protect you and keep you safe, I promise."

And Toris finds himself at a crossroads.

In another life, he would have said no.

He would have rejected the proposition fully and completely. Said that they would be able to manage very well, thank you, and that they wanted to leave as soon as possible, please. He would have swept his brothers away, to the Kingdom of Tule or possibly the Fjordlands - and once there, he would have worked himself to death, stuck under a constant fear of Ivan Zimavich and everything else in the world.

And for good reason. The world is terrifying. It is cold, and it is cruel.

...But.

There are slightly less terrifying things.

Helpful things. Understanding things.

Things that could be almost kind.

Toris ponders the idea. The crown prince.

He seems to be kind. He seems to be genuine. And he is right, when it comes to the benefits of staying in Lipska Castle. Ivan Zimavich cannot possibly touch him here, not if he wants to retain the more illicit parts of his business venture.

…

People are not always what they seem to be. This he knows.

But…

It is exactly like what Eduard said.

If one does not stop reliving the past, they will never face forward to the future.

(And if that does not work...

...Well, he has feet that can run.)

...

He shares one glance with Eduard, and it is all they need to make their decision.

"...Your Highness," Toris Laurinaitis says softly.

"Yes, Laurinaitis?" The crown prince says, leaning towards him.

Toris takes a deep breath.

 _Don't worry, mama,_ he thinks.

_I'm walking down the road, now._

"...We would be honored to work here at Lipska Castle."

There's a pause.

And then -

"We're honored to have you," the crown prince says.

And Toris feels like he is floating.

Because the crown prince is grinning. He has the bright, innocent face of a boy, a boy who bakes donuts and gives strangers shoes and worries over broken ankles.

And he is not directing that grin to anyone else.

He is not looking at Sir Lukas. He is not looking at Eduard.

The crown prince is looking at him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. What a chapter. Cheers for character development and some much needed LietPol interaction! :D
> 
> Anyways - I'm so sorry for the wait for this chapter, dear readers. This whole chapter is entirely new content, and so it took a long time to write, especially dealing with school and stuff. OTL. But on the bright side, we're finally done with the prologue! Yay! :D Now we can finally get to the juicy main story~!
> 
> Speaking of mains... I'm sorry if some of the main characters seem OOC at this moment, or if the writing is a little lackluster here, particularly at the end. To be honest, I'm kinda feeling unconfident about this chapter compared to the other two... but if I continue fussing with it, it would take another three to four months, and I just really want to get to the story proper. I promise I'll try to make the next chapter better. ^^;;
> 
> Yes, worry not, dear readers. I got an ask about this on Tumblr, so I wanna clear it up now: I will be continuing and finishing Knight Unexpected. It's going to take a while, but I assure you it will be completed sometime this year or the next. Thank you to everyone for your support and patience.
> 
> Anyways, that's it for my author's note. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! :^D If you have any constructive criticism, or just general things that you'd like to tell me about this fic so far, feel free to leave a review. Or, if you'd rather talk to me more directly, feel free to contact me on my other social media accounts:
> 
> Tumblr: actualninjacat
> 
> Tumblr tag: fic: knight unexpected
> 
> fanfiction.net: marcorooni
> 
> (Note: I'm on a social media hiatus until April 18th, so I won't answer any DMs I get on any of my accounts until then. ^^)
> 
> So long, and I'll see you all next time~
> 
> -NC
> 
> P.S. Speaking of mains 2.0!
> 
> A reviewer on here said that it might be good to have chapters in different character POVs, and after thinking it over, I decided that it would be a really fun idea! :0 Now, these wouldn't be essential to understand the plot or anything, but they would give a lot of insight into character motivations and backstories. They'd be short (at least by my standards) -- no more than 1,000 characters -- and sweet.
> 
> The reason I mention this now is because I'm thinking that the next chapter will be the first of these extra chapters. It'll focus on the thoughts of a character during the whole meeting with the crown prince fiasco.
> 
> So, with that in mind... out of Eduard, Raivis, and Lukas (no Feliks because I don't wanna give him away too early), whose POV would you be the most interested in reading? The characters you don't choose will eventually get their own extra chapter, so don't worry about it. ^^
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Have an awesome day! :D


	4. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here, everyone! Chapter One of Knight Unexpected! Woohoo!
> 
> As always, check the end of the chapter for my Author's Note! :D
> 
> ~ Song For The Chapter ~
> 
> Fairytale (Piano Cover) - Shrek - Cover by pianomusicluvr

There are more dishes in the sink than Toris Laurinaitis has ever seen in his entire life.

A mound of plates, forks, bowls, and knives towers precariously to the ceiling. It sways threateningly above the sink, dripping greasy water into the sud-filled basin below. Like something out of a bad dream, it creaks and groans. Dwarves everything around it with the monstrous confidence of something that knows it's the only thing that's existed and it's the only thing that ever will.

"She wants us to wash all of these?!" He gasps.

"Yes," Eduard says, seriously, quietly.

Then, with a sigh— "...And she said that we need to finish by the end of the hour."

Toris's mind goes blank.

The air in the humid room settles thick around him. All he can hear are water droplets. Falling. Falling. Falling. Tumbling down that pile. Sagging hopelessly. Wasting away like death.

If he doesn't finish washing the pile in time—

He'll waste away, too.

"Oh, no..."

A flicker of golden light.

"...Toris, are you okay?"

Green, uncomprehending eyes move over to  _Raivis_. "Ah… Yes, I'm fine…

...oh, why are we just  _standing_ here?"

Clarity pierces him.

_Enough of this._

"We need to get moving. There's no time to waste!"

"Yes, sir!" Raivis says.

Toris Laurinaitis ties back his hair, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work on the most important dishwashing job of his life.

As much as he would like to, there's not enough time for him to wash them all himself. Swiftly, he divides the pile into three around the sink - and when he's done, he sits at the bench and starts scrubbing with a forceful hand. A fierce nervousness overtakes his stomach, compelling him to wash harder, faster,  _stronger._ Another plate goes by, and another, and another and another and another, until there's a second pile of clean dishes well on its way to rivaling the first.

The wiping and scrubbing cracks at the calluses on his fingers, oozing tiny rivulets of blood that he wipes on his dirty apron. Sweat beads on his brow. Drips heavily down his neck.

"Toris."

Eduard's voice peaks up from his left.

"That's... quite a lot of plates. Do you want me to take some from you?"

Toris looks over at Eduard.

His younger brother's red and trembling arms are up to their forearms in water. Just by looking at them, he knows that they'll need to be wrapped in a hot cloth for at least an hour before the younger boy goes to bed. Tomorrow, he'll rub them raw, and when asked about it, he won't say a single thing.

Toris shakes his head firmly.

"No thank you. Just leave them all to me."

"...If you insist."

"Eduard's right, though!" Raivis says, wiping his sweat-covered forehead. The edges of hair are plastered to the sides of his face. That area, too, will be sensitive the next morning, endlessly distracting him until he can't focus on anything else. "Seriously, that's a lot of dishes… you might tear a back muscle or something."

"I'm not  _that_ old."

"You're getting there, though."

"Jeez, don't be so morbid, Raivis! I'm not standing on death's door."

Toris wipes his brow with a sudsy hand. To his dismay, his hand chooses that exact moment to cramp.

"I appreciate it, but it's fine, really," he reaffirms stubbornly. "I can handle it. Focus on your own work, okay?"

"But what about your back? And your arms?"

" _Please_ don't fret about me today!"

"Well, I'm just saying."

"Toris is right," Eduard says pointedly. "We can't bicker like this, Raivis. Today is the most important diplomatic event of the season."

"That's  _exactly_ why we need to focus. If we don't…"

"The matron will yell at us?" Raivis asks.

Toris rubs his temple. A strong headache is coming on, and he doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry.

"She'll do more than that," Eduard says.

" _Please_  don't remind me," Toris groans.

As if he could forget about it in the first place.

The beginning of summer always brought a series of trade discussions between all of Liathea's rulers. This year, the meetings just so happened to be held in Lipska Castle. Under the grand brownstone dining hall, Pospolitans, Tulians, Fjordlanders, Lowlanders, and Soleggiati would spend a week strategizing about the livelihoods of millions of people. In preparation, the matron had been working all of the scullery and the kitchen servants to the bone. She'd been more irritable than usual, forcing unrealistic tasks on them at the last minute. But Toris has to admit that it's for good measure.

They're not normal people, these kings and queens who will be dining at the grand oak tables. They're people who have kingdoms in the palms of their hands. People who could ruin societies with the snap of a finger. Nothing is off limits to their power and their scrutiny— not even the dinnerware.

In the blink of an eye, they could have Toris and his brothers drawn up for leaving crust on a gilded plate. They could have their heads on a golden platter, or they could chop off their hands and stick apples into their mouths. At the very least, they could have the Laurinaitis brothers banished from Lipska Castle, never to be seen in the kingdom again.

It can't happen. Not now, not ever.

If they ever fell back into the streets,  _that man_ would kill them.

And the crown prince's kindness would be for naught.

It's been a little over a year since Toris talked to the crown prince, but he still remembers that day as if it happened yesterday. Each time he remembers it - each time he locks eyes with the crown prince in the kitchens and they smile at each other briefly -, the luck of that moment rises to the top of his chest like a buoyant balloon.

To meet someone as kind as that is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Now that he has it grasped in his hand, he can't afford to give it up.

He can't let his family down.

"Ohh, I hate even  _thinking_ about it!" Raivis blurts out, drawing Toris out of his thoughts.

"What do you hate?" Toris asks.

Raivis shudders. Soap bubbles ripple across the murky water, crashing mini-tsunamis on upturned bowl islands. "Just the thought of all those scary diplomats eating off of our plates. What if we don't clean well enough? They might come down and yell at us… ...And then they might ask who did it, and if they find out who did it they might get even more angry, and then if they get even more angry they might just talk to the king and queen and—"

"Those are all just  _hypotheticals_ ," Eduard replies. "None of that will happen if we just calm down and work efficiently. Stop talking— you're only worrying yourself too much."

"Ehh, but there's no way we'll finish on time, not even if we continue now! We're screwed!"

"Don't say that!" Toris says. "If we focus, we can get through it. Raivis!"

"Y-yes?"

"How many dishes have you washed?"

"Uhm, well - this pile, here."

The thing that Raivis gestures to can't even be called a pile.

It's small and pitiful and only worsens Toris's headache.

"Ahh, that's not many dishes at all!" Toris says.

"S-sorry! I'll get them done now!"

Toris's head pounds.

"No, no, it's - gahh, hold on _._ " He takes a deep breath. "...Okay. Let's change things up a bit. Give some of your dishes to me."

"What?"

"You too, Ed."

"But Toris," Eduard protests, "you already have a few more than us. Don't overwhelm yourself with work!"

"Ed, I know what I'm doing here. Just  _trust_ me. Ohh -we worked so hard to get here! I'm not going to just sit by and throw it all away and have the matron think that we're—"

_**CRASH.** _

" _IDIOTS!_ "

A knife splashes into the sink.

Toris jolts his head backwards, craning his neck to see past the sea of gasping people.

He spots them immediately: a trio of three trembling boys gathered under the stone archway that leads from the scullery to the kitchen.

Behind them, the matron broils a furious maroon.

"IMBECILES!"

Her deep voice echoes violently through the room.

"YOU STUPID  _FOOLS!_ "

"W-we're sorry!" The three sputter.

The matron takes a deep, deep breath into her large chest. She closes her eyes and mutters something under her breath.

And then her eyes bulge out of her head.

"You had the simplest task in the kitchen! How in the  _world_ could you have messed it up?!" She has to clasp her hands together to keep her large, work-callused fists from trembling. "Don't just stand there!  _MOVE!_ "

"Y-yes, ma'am!"

The three boys drop to their hands and knees and frantically scoop something into their aprons. It's hard to see  _what_ they're scooping— Toris has to stretch his neck out and squint his eyes, and—

He gasps.

"Oh my  _god._ "

"What happened?" Raivis asks. "I can't see!"

Toris's mouth goes dry.

"They— they—"

"They what?"

Toris swallows.

"...They dropped a whole pig."

Sitting directly in front of the matron's feet...

… is an entire roasted pig.

Dirt, dust, and other bits of grime cover the pig's oily skin, seeping into areas where tender, still sizzling meat glimmers red and bloody. Hundreds of pieces of silver from the platter that carried it dig into its flesh. They're stuck all over, but Toris's eye is drawn to a long, sharp piece that juts out of a mangled eye socket and glistens ominously in the warm torch light. Below that, the pig smiles mockingly.

_Hello,_ it says.

_Look at me._

Toris looks.

Goosebumps form on his arms when he sees the broken apple in its mouth.

Roasted potatoes, carrots, and leafy greens drown in the thick sea of oils that floods out of the pig's desecrated body.

It's a massacre.

" _A pig?_ " Eduard says.

"Yes."

"Dear god."

"I see it!" Raivis exclaims. "Oh… wow, I'm  _really_ glad I'm not them right now."

"I don't understand." Eduard mutters, craning his head back to look. "How could...  _three_ people drop a  _pig?_ "

"Maybe they bumped into something," Raivis offers. "Maybe it was a mistake."

"Well, it was a very costly one."

"And careless, too," Toris says, watching as the shortest boy scoops a chunk of meat into his apron. "It's why you always have to pay attention when you're doing something, even if it's small. You never know what could happen to you with things like that. ...Gosh. They  _really_ ruined that pig."

"Indeed," Eduard says, turning back to the sink.

Toris continues to watch.

Really, it was terribly careless. The matron has every right to be upset. A roast pig takes hours and hours to perfect… and now all of that time and effort has gone down the drain because of some silly boys. They deserve every inch of the discipline they're getting.

Still… Toris winces a bit.

She's screaming at them so  _loudly_ that the shortest sniffles a few times, looking like he's on the brink of tears. It's reminiscent of a time he knew way back when— a life, where he, too, was always on his hands and knees, where he was always teary-eyed when he got yelled at (at least, that's how it was in the beginning).

His hand rubs the back of his neck. It's already hot and humid in the scullery but his body temperature rises even higher.

"Watch where you're going next time!"

A harsh voice breaks through the din.

Out of nowhere, a white haired man strides over to the matron's side. A pair of seething blood red eyes broil with fury within his wolfish face. On his white long-sleeved shirt, a large brown stain discolors the wing of the red phoenix that covers a good portion of his chest.

Toris jolts.

It's not just any phoenix. It's the black phoenix emblem of the Pospolitan military.

Scrubbing at the stain with a hand towel, the white-haired man glares at the three boys. "Tch. You ruined my awesome shirt! Kids these days… Hey! Are you going to apologize to me or what?!"

"W-we're sorry, sir!" The three cry out.

The white-haired man scowls even deeper.

"Hmph," he says haughtily. "You better be. ...And by the way, it's SirBeilschmidt to you guys."

"W-we're terribly sorry, sir Beilschmidt!"

Sir Beilschmidt huffs.

"Tch. That's more like it. ...Anyways, don't be so careless next time, you hear?" Eyebrows furrowed, he crunches some of the surrounding silver shards with the tip of his shined leather boot. "You're lucky you bumped into me and not some other stick in the ass kinda guy. I know some people that would have all of your heads on  _sticks_."

After dabbing and scrubbing at the stain some more, Sir Beilschmidt assesses his work, nods, and mutters something to himself. He throws the towel to one of the nearby islands, where it lands neatly in a pile of other towels— then scans the room with narrowed eyes.

Toris turns back to the sink. He doesn't need to see anymore; he knows this type of person well. The majority of that man's friends were like this: arrogant, brash, placing respect above all else. They were the type to get mad at the slightest show of insolence, to always look for something wrong to nitpick. If he even breathes in Sir Beilschmidt's direction, he has no doubt that the man will force him to lick his boots clean. Toris will be better off if he doesn't spy.

Not that he still wants to.

"I'm  _so_ sorry for the inconvenience, Sir Beilschmidt!" The matron says apologetically. Her voice cracks, wavers slightly like a songbird's. How the woman goes from kind one moment to mean the next Toris will never know. "Mark my word, this will  _never_ happen again!"

"It better not," Sir Beilschmidt grumbles. "I mean, now I have to go and change out of my shirt because of what happened here! It's ridiculous!"

"I deeply apologize, sir!"

Sir Beilschmidt snorts. "Not your fault, miss," he says. There's a crunch. The bite of metal against stone. "Kids these days just need to learn discipline. It's a tough world out there, you know."

"Oh, believe me, I  _know._ If only you could see a  _quarter_ of the incompetent things that go on down here… like  _this!_ " The matron lets out a frustrated sigh. "Gahhh! This is going to be a  _nightmare._ I'm already short on staff, and now I need to send these fools to the market to fetch another pig!"

"Oh, god…" Toris mutters again.

In that moment, he sincerely pitied the three boys. Dropping a roast pig was terrible— having to go to the market and fetch  _another_ was even worse. They were just so hard to carry because of their weight… and smelly, to boot. He wouldn't want to be them in a million years.

There's a pause.

"A pig?" Sir Beilschmidt finally asks.

"Of course. They need to replace the one that they've ruined. Otherwise I'll be short on food and the king and queen will be  _furious!_ "

"You're gonna send them to the market on a day like this?"

"There's no other option. They  _must_."

"All three of them?"

"Yes."

Another pause.

"That doesn't seem like the best idea," Sir Beilschmidt says boldly.

Toris's eyes widen.  _Never_ would he think of talking back to the matron like that, not unless he had a death wish.

Sir Beilschmidt must be out of his mind.

"I beg your pardon?" The matron asks, shocked.

Sir Beilschmidt sniffs haughtily. "I can tell you right now that these three won't be able to handle it. I mean, if they dropped a whole pig  _here_ , what are the odds that they'll be able to take one back from the  _market?_  It's impossible."

There's no way the matron will listen to him, Toris thinks.

But to his surprise, she lets out a small "hmm".

"What are you suggesting, Sir Beilschmidt?" She asks.

"Send one person who actually knows what they're doing to go get the pig and then have these three take over their job. You'll get your pig safely, you'll keep an eye on these three,  _and_ you'll havethem finish that one person's work three times faster."

The two fall silent as the matron mulls it over.

Toris has to admit it. The man is impertinent… but he is rather clever.

Soon, though, his admiration fades away, replaced by anxiety that shudders through his body.

If the plan goes through, and if the matron chooses him or one of his brothers… it would mean going outside.

And going outside would bring the possibility of facing  _that man._

It's been a little over a year since Toris last saw that man _,_ and just the mere thought of seeing him again sends hot pangs through his chest, pushing something cloying up his throat.

He's been outside Lipska Castle before, of course, though it took him a few months to gather up the courage to do so. Even if he's terrified, he can't simply ignore the duties of his job. The matron has sent him to the nearby city market for short errands several times. Each time, he was escorted by a cheery blond guard named Sir Køhler— and yet each time, without fail, the anxiety became so great that paranoia crept up and distorted what was already there. All from the thought of inhabiting the same area as him. Of breathing the same air.

It's for good reason, though. That man is always watching. Waiting. Toris hasn't heard anything concrete about him — he hasn't talked to anyone associated with their "family" either he and his brothers left — but Toris knows that man well enough to guarantee that he's just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Sir Køhler may have an axe, and he may be fully trained as a knight — but only Toris knows all too well just what that man is capable of.

As he continues to listen into the conversation, Toris begins to pray.

"Hmm…" the matron says after a long while. "That certainly seems reasonable."

"It'll save you a whole lot of headaches, that's for sure."

"Well — you know what? I'll do it. It's a prudent plan. Thank you, Sir Beilschmidt."

Toris's heart  _drops_.

_No._

"Who're you gonna pick?" Sir Beilschmidt asks.

"Hmm. Let's see. ...Oh, I can't choose anyone  _too_ important. So that means it can't be her… Not her, either. And certainly not  _him…_ "

Suddenly, Raivis grabs his wrist.

His younger brother's eyes are as wide as dinner plates.  _Toris, what if she picks one of us?_ He mouths.

Toris's heart breaks when he sees the trembling wracking Raivis's shoulders.

_Don't worry,_ he mouths back.  _Wash your dishes._

He prays more desperately than before. For it not to be Raivis, who had so many nightmares the first three months that they had to move him to a separate bed. For it not to be Eduard, who digs his nails into his arms at night so that no one will hear him cry.

The nervousness builds up like stinging nettles.

"...not him, and  _definitely_  not  _her._  Hmm… maybe—"

"What about him?"

"Who?"

"That boy in the back."

_No._

"The one you're pointing to?"

"Yeah. He doesn't seem like he's doing much. And whatever they're doing could use more people, anyways."

"Hm… you're right. He could be spared. And he is dependable... Alright, then."

_Please. Please, no._

The matron takes a deep breath.

"Laurinaitis! Come here!"

_Oh, thank god._

Toris breathes a sigh of relief. It's not them. Thank the gods. They're  _safe._

And then his world blurs at the edges and his lungs start to suffocate.

He can't seem to move at all. Everything — his face, his hands, his legs — goes numb as the realization dawns on him.

_No. No, no, no._

"Toris, are you okay?" Eduard asks, concern blotting his voice.

Toris looks down at the arms in front of him. Around them, water ripples like waves lapping at a riverbank. Insubstantial, fleeting, taking everything away with them.

"I'll be fine," he says vaguely, wincing.

...It's not like he's never done this before. He has — multiple times — and he's been fine each time. And it's not like he'll be alone, either. Sir Køhler will be with him. There will be many people, too, all with eyes and ears and mouths that can scream. And luckily enough, there will be a clear spring morning above them — perfect for visibility, unlucky for reconnaissance.

If he just gets in and out of the market as soon as possible, he should be fine.

He hopes.

( _There's a first time for everything,_ a voice whispers,  _a first time for everything, and who knows, maybe this will be the day, maybe this will be the day where he finally catches you and violates you and drags you back to that wretched hellhole of a h_ )

"Don't worry about me," Toris says, shaking his head. The feeling slowly returns to his arms as he flexes his hands. "It'll only be an hour at most." Abruptly, he stands up. "Coming, ma'am!" He yells to the matron.

"Hurry on up, now!"

Toris nods quickly. After wiping his hands on his apron and stepping over the bench, he squeezes his brothers' shoulders firmly.

"You guys take care of each other," he says. He hesitates, contemplating his brothers with worry, before letting the next words rush out like a deluge. "Raivīte, work on your dishes. Ed, when those three get here, divide up everything equally between the five of you. Keep an eye on them, and  _do not let them mess anything up._ Understand?"

"Understood," Eduard replies.

"Good," Toris says.

A pause. Then, softly and with urgency— "...you'll be okay, right?"

"We will. Just go."

"Are you sure? Are you really,  _really_ sure?"

Eduard's steely eyes look back at him firmly. "I'm sure," he says, and the matter-of-fact way he speaks sends an unexpected wave of sadness through Toris's heart.  _He grew up too fast._

_They both did._

Toris clears his throat. Scrubs his face with his hand like that's what he really needs to do. "Okay, okay, I will. Remember, I'll be back in an hour."

"Go before the matron yells at you!" Raivis urges.

Toris forces a small smile.

He gently ruffles Raivis's hair. Presses kisses to both of their heads.

"I'm counting on you," he tells them.

Before he goes, he feels for the small knife he has stashed away in his pocket. Takes one last look into the murky sink, and then at his brothers, who have already turned and are talking urgently amongst themselves.

_Go. You need to do this._

Toris Laurinaitis takes a deep breath and makes his way to the matron.

The pig is still on the floor when he arrives. Its surrounding area is cleaner than when he first saw it — there are fewer silver shards, and the floor is shiny but not drenched in oil — but the servant boys are still on their hands and knees. A familiar emotion rises up in his throat, and he looks away.

He makes eye contact with Sir Beilschmidt, and out of respect, bows politely. But Sir Beilschmidt doesn't bow back. He doesn't even incline his head.

He just stares, his eyes narrowed like he's scrutinizing a piece of meat.

Uncomfortable, and more than a little afraid, Toris turns to the matron.

"...over to their station when you clean this mess up. Is that understood?" The matron orders the boys. When the boys chime in with a chorus of yesses, she nods, wrings her hands on her apron, and looks at Toris, raising a neat eyebrow delicately.

"Ah! Laurinaitis. Took you long enough."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

The matron waves the apology away with a flick of her wrist. "No time for that," she says.

"This is urgent. Laurinaitis, I need you to fetch me a suckling pig from the market  _immediately._  Now, you need to make sure that the pig is plump, and that its eyes are clear…"

Toris tamps down his anxiety as he listens to the matron's specifications. There's no time for nervousness, he decides. He has a job to do, and he'll be damned if he doesn't do it well.

...Still. He can't help it. As he listens, taking notes in his head along the way, flashes of his old life come back to him. It leaves him a little out of breath. Takes away his focus.

_Stop. Concentrate._

When the matron finishes listing off her specifications, he nods quickly. No time to dwell. "Of course, ma'am," he says. "I'll find Sir Køhler and be on my way!"

_Just an hour,_ he tells himself.  _It won't be bad. Just an hour._

"Very well. Now hurry before—"

" _Wait_ ," Sir Beilschmidt interjects. _"_ Sir Køhler _?_ "

The matron and Toris freeze.

Sir Beilschmidt's face is wide with shock. "Sir Køhler as in the  _knight?_ " He croaks.

"Yes."

Toris doesn't reply. In these types of situations, with these types of people, he's learned that it's best to stay quiet. Not only that, but—

There's something wild in Sir Beilschmidt's expression that discomforts him.

"What does that guy have to do with this?"

"Well…" the matron says, hesitating. "Sir Køhler is Laurinaitis's… escort."

At the end of the sentence, her face stiffens with discomfort.

The situation with Sir Køhler had always been uncomfortable to discuss. From the very beginning, Toris knew how it made his family seen. He was always aware of the rolling eyes, the venomous whispers, the accusations of special privilege. And even if no one would have showed it to him, he still would have known the truth of the matter: that needing an escort to go outside was pathetic, and that it made him a coward.

Really, he doesn't blame her.

But she and the majority of the servants, at least, had tried to dampen their reactions, or gossiped behind closed doors. Even if it was still happening, it was more bearable if he could ignore it.

Sir Beilschmidt does none of that.

His mouth gapes open in an unhidden display of surprise. Like he doesn't know what he's doing— or, most likely, he doesn't care.

" _Escort?_ " The knight echoes.

His expression looks like it's about to crack.

"Yes, his escort. For reasons I am not allowed to disclose."

"I— uh, wow. Wow."

"Yes."

" _Wow._ "

Out of the blue, Sir Beilschmidt chuckles.

His chuckle grows louder. And louder. And louder.

Until it's practically bouncing off of the walls.

Until everyone in the room is looking at him.

Until, as Toris realizes with dawning horror and embarrassment, he's  _laughing._

"Oh my  _god._ You've gotta be kidding me!" Sir Beilschmidt wheezes, wipes rivulets of tears away with a trembling finger. He's trembling genuinely all over. It's the type of laugh that strains— the type of laugh that  _hurts._  "This has to be a joke. What a fucking  _coincidence_."

"What?" The matron asks. "What is it?"

Toris wants to know the same thing. Is it the fact that he has an escort? The fact that the matron can't say anything? Or…

... _Does he know something that I don't?_

Sir Beilschmidt shudders. Takes a hollow, gasping breath. Finally, he manages to compose himself, and he opens his mouth to speak— but each time he does he dissolves into anew into a fresh batch of laughter. He curls in on himself. Clutches his stomach. Wipes more tears from his eyes.

And a slow, anxious drip starts to flow into Toris's stomach.

Eventually, Sir Beilschmidt calms down completely. "Fuck," he says. "Holy  _shit._ " A wheeze. "What a coincidence."

He straightens up. Looks Toris dead in the eye. And then, with a smile that shows his teeth, pushes out the words as if he's barely keeping himself together.

"Sir Køhler is  _sick_ ," he says.

Toris's breath catches.

" _What?_ " He asks.

His chest is getting tight.

"Sick?" He hears the matron ask.

"He's  _sick,_ " Sir Beilschmidt repeats. And then, because it's just the funniest joke in the world— he laughs again, this time more rough and harsh and utterly sadistic. "Poor fucker is as sick as a  _dog._ The guy caught the flu, so the head doctor is making him take a week's bed rest. Oh… oh, god! The poor guy can't even get up to  _piss…_ and you wanna make him go to the market! Holy  _shit!_ "

"He can't get up at all?"

"Nope! He's gone! Completely  _floored!_ "

Toris's chest is tight. It's tight, and no matter how hard he tries, it gets tighter and tighter and tighter  _and he can't breathe._

The matron coughs. "Oh my. That's… awful. Well, in that case… Laurinaitis… I don't know what I'll do with you."

Toris doesn't know what he'll do, either.

He's never stepped outside without Sir Køhler by his side. He's never even thought about it. And now that he's gone— now that Toris is  _alone_ — Toris feels his throat close and his chest  _struggle_ and his stomach drop all the way to the bottom of the world.

He's vulnerable.

Completely, utterly vulnerable.

If he goes outside in this state, Ivan Zimavich will find him, tear him from limb to limb, and eat him  _raw._

Raw panic eats at him.

"There has to be some other way," he says. Pleads.

The same uncomfortable look from earlier washes over the matron's face. "I don't know if there is any other way, Laurinaitis. You're one of the few expendable servants here. Oh, I suppose I could replace you with  _him…_ but he's busy with the baking section, and god forbid I don't have enough cookies…" Her eyebrows furrow as she scans both the scullery and the kitchen. "Let's see… maybe I could swap you out with her? No, she's too experience… Or maybe him… no, he's too important as well." She wrings her apron. Bites her lip.

"Would you want to take one of your brothers with you?" She asks.

" _No,_ " Toris says immediately. "They have to finish the dishes."

"Well, Laurinaitis, I'm sorry— I don't know what other alternative I have."

"I've got one," Sir Beilschmidt says.

Humming, he comes up behind him and places a cold hand on Toris's shoulder.

"I'll take him."

Toris's eyes widen.

"You'll— take him?" The matron squeaks in surprise.

"Yeah. I'll take him," Sir Beilschmidt says casually. His mouth is smiling, but his eyes are firm and hard, like the sharpened tip of a metal lance. His nails bite harshly through the fabric as he squeezes Toris's shoulder. "It's not a big deal. As long as I'm back in an hour to rejoin the other knights, I can take him."

"Oh— are you sure, Sir Beilschmidt? I wouldn't want this to interfere with any of your duties!"

"You're not interfering with much. Like I said, I just gotta be back in an hour. ...We'll probably be back even earlier if we go now." Sir Beilschmidt glances at Toris, one eyebrow cocked. "Right, kid?"

Toris clenches his fist.

"Right," he echoes hollowly.

He knows he should be relieved.

This is another knight with him, someone who has received the same training as Sir Køhler— and, by the look of Sir Beilschmidt's muscles, someone who has benefitted infinitely more. Not only that, but this is a knight who is taking time out of his extremely chaotic day for a mere  _servant._ Kindnesses like this only come once in a lifetime, and Toris knows that if he doesn't accept it… he'll be nothing more than a fool.

But Sir Beilschmidt isn't Sir Køhler.

He's never talked to Sir Beilschmidt before. Never even seen him before this day. And judging on what little he knows right now, Sir Beilschmidt is not someone Toris Laurinaitis would like to partner with. The man is rude. Brash. Confident but uncaring, and therefore liable to act however he wants in public. He is everything that Toris does not need when he's trying to hide.

Perhaps he acts differently on duty. Perhaps he's just as observant and cautious and battle-ready as Sir Køhler. But Toris doesn't know that. There are too many things Toris doesn't know— like what makes Sir Beilschmidt angry. What makes him stressed. What he does in combat situations, how he carries himself in public. He doesn't know if he's prone to getting emotional or not— if he can navigate through crowds safely— if he's alert and oriented and always on guard. He is a stranger unapproved by the crown prince and Toris's own intuition… and if Toris goes to the market with him, he will be a stranger with Toris's entire life in his hands.

Toris can't go to the market with him.

But what other choice is there?

Something has unexpectedly caught in his throat. He swallows, takes a deep breath.

It's late in the morning, and he's sweating.

"Well, if you're sure…" the matron says.

Sir Beilschmidt grins wolfishly. "Surer than life itself."

"If you can take him, then take him," the matron says, shrugging. With that, she fixes her eyes firmly onto Toris. "Remember what I told you!"

Now. Now's his time. If he was braver, he would say something.

But he can't even open his lips.

"Ah," he says, "um…"

What alternative does he have? To go to the market  _alone?_

No. He can't do that, either.

The matron raises an eyebrow. Places one hand on her hip. "What is it, Laurinaitis?"

Her tone is patient, but Toris can feel the fraying at the edges.

Sir Beilschmidt rolls his eyes. "It's just the jitters," he says. "Come on, kid, the sooner we get going—"

" _Hush._ I want to hear it from  _him_."

Toris's face heats up.

"Well, it's—"

"Is it about Sir Køhler?" The matron asks bluntly.

Toris doesn't respond.

Shocked, he merely shakes his head and takes a step back— then reconsiders. Sir Beilschmidt is still behind him.

The matron sighs. She looks all around the room, then lowers her voice so quiet that Toris knows she is completely serious. "Don't fret so much," she says. "You've made this trip plenty of times before. And besides— Sir Beilschmidt is a reputable man, is he not? ...It'll be okay, Laurinaitis. You know, every now and again you must try to get out of your comfort zone…"

But it's more than just a comfort zone. It's a life or death situation, one with a very dangerous man at the helm of it all.

Sir Beilschmidt's hand comes down tighter on his shoulder. His nails are so sharp that Toris flinches, and he attempts to shift position. Unexpectedly, his bad ankle slips— and he ends up noticeably jerking away from Sir Beilschmidt's grasp.

The knight's flashing eyes meet his own, sending a deep pang of fear through Toris's chest. "What's the matter?" Sir Beilschmidt asks. He's scowling, and his voice is sharp with frustration.

_You're the problem,_ Toris wants to say.  _Please, please_ , please  _just leave me alone and let me find Sir_ Køhler  _or else don't let me go at all, let me fall into the ground and sleep and just go_ away—

It seems like there's nothing he can do.

Every way he looks, there's traps all the way down.

Unless —

The matron gasps.

"Oh my god!" She whispers.

Abruptly, she drops into a curtsey, her face flushing pink.

"My apologies! I didn't see you there, your Highness!"

_Your Highness?_

"Holy  _shit,_ " Sir Beilschmidt mutters.

Unexpectedly, he drops into a bow, too.

Now that his hand is off of his shoulder, Toris draws a shuddering breath and takes a few steps away from Sir Beilschmidt. Once there, he looks to where the matron and Sir Beilschmidt are looking—

And a jolt bolts through his body.

Standing in the center of the kitchen just a few feet away is the crown prince of Pospolita.

 

Toris drops into a deep bow. As his head hangs low, all of the color drains from his face.

Out of all of the times for the crown prince to appear, he would have never thought it would be now.

The crown prince was no stranger to the kitchen. He came down every now and then, always accompanied by Sir Lukas, to bake on the old stove in the corner. But that was always on weekday nights, when the public was out working and the kitchen was just closing— never when the Kingdom of Pospolita was conducting important political business.

At first, he thinks it's a security issue. Something that necessitates that he exits from the hidden entrance in the back of the scullery. Toris thinks of Raivis and Eduard, and he shifts his feet to run to them.

But it must not be too serious— for the crown prince remains in his stop and tells them to rise with a casual, flippant hand gesture.

Despite his casualty, the crown prince looks like the picture of elegance. His golden blond hair tied back with a white silk ribbon, revealing a clean face that gazes at the world with haughty self-assurance. A long-sleeved blood red żupan with gold embroidery accentuates his slim body, turns the lily white of his skin into something close to porcelain. Every inch of him is decorated a royal— and it draws the eyes of everyone in both rooms.

The crown prince, though, only focuses on one thing.

"What is  _that?!_ "

With wide eyes, he points dramatically at the pig. Behind him, Sir Lukas, who carries a woven handbasket, purses his lips slightly.

The three boys tremble before him like deer caught in the hunter's gaze.

The crown prince shakes his head. Incredulously, he swivels his head around the room— and he makes eye contact with Toris Laurinaitis.

An indescribable wave of emotion goes through Toris. His skin tingles; sparks run up his back, whether from anxiety or surprise he doesn't know. Brushing a piece of his hair back, he offers the crown prince a small smile. After a moment, the crown prince smiles back, too.

"Oh— hello, Laurinaitis," the crown prince says, using the faraway tone of someone who is slightly confused. His gaze flicks over to Sir Beilschmidt, who still has his hand on Toris's shoulder, and to the matron, whose mouth moves up and down as she tries to grasp for the right words.

His eyebrows furrow.

With a slightly more confused tone, he asks "Did  _you_ do this?"

"No, your Highness!" Toris replies, horrified. The color rushes back to his cheeks.

"I totally figured," the crown prince says. Eyes narrowed, he looks around the room with an accusatory gaze. "Can someone explain to me who the heck  _did?_ "

"Oh, don't worry about it, your Highness!" The matron says. Now that she's snapped out of her shock, she buzzes over to the crown prince, flitting around him like a nervous fly. "It's just a little accident!"

" _Little?_ "

"There's nothing to be concerned about."

"There's a  _pig_ on the ground!"

The crown prince steps closer to the pig. He touches a puddle of oil with his shiny leather boots, and he grimaces.

"Did  _you_ do this?" He asks, staring down at the three boys.

The three sit up and bow their heads profusely. "We're sorry, your Highness!" They cry.

"So you  _did_ do this," he says matter-of-factly.

The three exchange a look between themselves.

"Well, you see—" They begin.

And thus they go into their story, sniffling and snivelling all the while. They explain how the matron had assigned them to roast the pig. How they had stayed up very late at night and woke up very early in the morning to ensure that it would be absolutely perfect for the feast. They finally finished it about an hour ago, and it was absolutely beautiful. The meat was tender, practically sliding off of the bone; the skin was the brownest and crispiest skin one could ever imagine. They let it rest for a while, sitting quietly around it and just basking in the fruits of their labor— and after it had rested, the matron told them to move it to the main island in the kitchen so that the chefs could add the finishing touches for serving.

It went well, at first. But as they carried it on the large, unwieldy silver platter, they were so concerned with keeping an eye on the roast that they hardly noticed anything around them…

And they bumped into the unfortunate knight that was hurrying down the kitchen aisles.

The crown prince listens intently, nodding and making the occasional "hmm" and "huh". When the three finish telling their story, he sighs heavily.

"Well, that was stupid," he says bluntly.

Both Toris and the three boys wince.

"We're sorry, your Highness," the boys say again, quieter this time.

"You should be," the crown prince continues. "That pig could have fed at  _least_ 100 people. And now it's on the floor. I mean, that's totally careless."

He pauses a bit. Lets the words sink in, lets the boys' heads bow lower.

"It was stupid and not okay, but these things happen. And we don't have time to deal with that right now," he says. "...Alright. Go and take that pig to… wherever you guys dump trash. The matron will talk with you later. Now, listen to me very carefully — don't  _ever_  let anything like that happen again _._ Mmkay?"

The three are dazed. They look at the crown prince like he's from another world, another planet.

Their eyes flicker from the crown prince to the matron, and when the matron says nothing, doesn't yell or scream or insult them, they finally nod, stand up, and bow very deeply.

"Of course, your Highness! It won't happen again."

"Alright, go on. Take it away."

The three boys bow once again to the crown prince, lift up the pig, and take it away, their heads lowered and shoulders slumped all the while. After asking the crown prince if he needs anything and learning that he does not, the matron curtsies and follows after the three boys, whispering frantically at them.

A small trail of grease follows behind them. The crown prince makes a face.

"Ugh," he says to Sir Lukas. "My appetite is totally ruined right now."

Sir Lukas doesn't respond.

After a moment, the crown prince turns to Sir Beilschmidt. "So they bumped into you?" He asks.

"Yes, your Highness," Sir Beilschmidt says.

His voice has suddenly become meeker than before.

The crown prince makes a small 'hmm'. Lips pursed, he eyes the knight up and down.

"What happened to your shirt?"

"Oh, this?" Sir Beilschmidt says. "Uh."

His eyes dart away as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

"Those three idiots bumped into me and got pig on it."

"Oh. ...But wait— what are you, like, doing down here, anyways? Aren't you a knight?"

"General Zwingli wanted me to check the exits down here, your Highness," Sir Beilschmidt says, jerking his thumb towards the scullery exit.

"And what's your name?"

Sir Beilschmidt purses his lips.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," he says stiffly.

The crown prince's eyes brighten. "Oh!" He says. "I remember you! You're Zwingli's cousin, right?"

"The one and only. ...Your Highness."

"Hm. Alright. Wait, so did you like— check all of the exits and everything?"

"Uh - not yet, your Highness."

"Well, why not?" The crown prince demands.

Sir Beilschmidt hesitates.

After a moment, with his eyes still fixed firmly on the crown prince, he moves over and places his hand on Toris's shoulder. "I'm taking this guy to the market."

There's a long pause.

The crown prince and Toris lock eyes, and in that brief shadow of a moment, something unspoken passes between them.

The crown prince narrows his eyes as he addresses Sir Beilschmidt.

"Why?" The crown prince asks. His lips curl down in the slightest hint of a frown.

Suddenly, he looks at Toris.

"Where's Sir Køhler?"

Sir Beilschmidt's eyes widen. "Huh? So you know—"

The crown prince glances at Sir Beilschmidt. "'Course I know about him.  _I'm_ the one who thought of the whole thing." Quickly, he turns back to Toris, crossing his arms. "Where's Sir Køhler?"

Toris clears his throat. The sudden surprise and relief he feels from the crown prince addressing him helps him push the words out, regardless of the self-consciousness he feels around Sir Beilschmidt. "Sir Beilschmidt said that Sir Køhler is… sick, your Highness."

The crown prince's mouth eyes widen slightly. "Huh? Is that true, Beilschmidt?"

"Yeah. Køhler is sick with the flu. The guy can't even get up to walk."

"Eh?! No way!"

"It's true," Sir Beilschmidt says with a shrug. "So I decided I'd help out the matron here and take… Laurinaitis down to the market."

Hearing Sir Beilschmidt call him by name for the first time feels wrong.

Not because of the way he says it, but because of the way he didn't.

"But you still have to patrol the exits," the crown prince says. With each passing minute he sounds less confused… and more scrutinizing.

It might be a long shot, but…

...Toris hopes.

"I can do that before I leave, your Highness. It won't take that long," Sir Beilschmidt says.

"Yeah, but then you have to come back to prepare for the feast. You can't just leave for a super long time like this." The crown prince's frown deepens. "What time are you two gonna be back?"

"About an hour, more or less. General Zwingli won't mind as long as I'm back by then."

"An hour's still a lot of time."

"It's no trouble," comes the flippant reply. "Now, if you'll excuse us, your Highness, we should get going."

It happens slowly, like moving through water.

Sir Beilschmidt's hand moves slowly down from Toris's shoulder to his forearm, which he grasps with the fang-like precision of some venomous tree snake. He turns — and as he does so, he attempts to take a shell shocked Toris with him.

In the span of a second, the situation becomes unbearably familiar, and Toris feels the anxiety rise up again.

He's trapped. It's undeniable. He's trapped, he's trapped, he's trapped, and as much as he wants to get out, he'll never be able to — because no one,  _no one,_ will ever see what he can see— or, rather, what he can't.

Sir Beilschmidt is a reputable man — so what does  _Toris Laurinaitis_  have to complain about?

Even if they asked, it still wouldn't matter.

Never for boys like him.

" _Wait._ "

A white hand comes down on Toris's other shoulder.

Sir Beilschmidt stops. "What—"

"Shush for a second."

In the blink of an eye, the crown prince's face comes close to Toris's, his intent green eyes glowing like a dying sunset. When he's certain that he has Toris's attention, he removes his hand and tucks it into a pocket.

It takes Toris's breath away.

"Your Highness—" he says—

"Laurinaitis, why don't you come to the market with me?" The crown prince asks.

" _Huh?_ "

"Come to the market with me."

The crown prince's voice is gentle but strong, perfectly complementing the sweet smell of his floral perfume. Toris can't help it. This time, he's distracted in a different way.

Until the full meaning of the words settles in.

"Your Highness, what are you  _talking_ about?" Sir Beilschmidt cuts in.

The knight's eyebrows are furrowed deep with incredulity, his mouth open in a small O. "You can't go to the market!" He protests. "It's not safe!"

"I have Sir Lukas with me," the crown prince says, gesturing to the impassive Fjordlander. "He'll protect us. Right, Lukaszek?"

"Of course," comes the guard's stoic reply.

Sir Beilschmidt is at a loss for words — and frankly, so is Toris. Adrenaline pumps through his veins and to his ears, deafening his mind to everything besides that singular phrase:  _come to the market with me._

He could almost cry.

An offer from someone he knows. A way out.

An opportunity.

Eventually, Sir Beilschmidt finds the words again. "Your preparations," he says. "What about all of that?"

The crown prince's eye twitches. "This  _is_ part of my preparations. I'm going to the market to get stuff for pączki."

"Pączki?"

"It's a pastry."

"...Yeah, but why  _now?_ "

"Because I  _want_  to make them now." The crown prince's voice edges sharp with frustration. "You know, last time I checked,  _you_  aren't the crown prince of this kingdom. And why are you, like, addressing me so casually?"

Sir Beilschmidt bristles. "I'm sorry. ... _Your Highness._ "

"Hmph."

Sir Beilschmidt spreads his hands out. "Alright, sure, I'm not the crown prince. But I  _am_ a knight who is sworn to protect you, your Highness. It's part of my job to make sure you don't do anything… reckless."

"If we're talking about jobs, you should worry more about yours instead of mine," the crown prince huffs. "I have time to do this.  _You_ don't. ...Why are you so insistent on this, anyways? Are you trying to slack off or something?"

Sir Beilschmidt scowls. "No, never! I'm just saying — another thing, too. What if you take him with you, huh?" Sir Beilschmidt gestures to Toris. "People are gonna be looking at you wondering what the hell he's doing there. And  _you—_ " he gestures to Sir Lukas, "—are gonna have to deal with another person to protect. If you ask me, it seems pretty damn reckless!"

The crown prince hesitates for a moment.

"Lukas can guard two people at once!" He snaps. "And, like… so what if they think that way? What can they do to me?"

With a flourish, he turns and points at Toris. "Laurinaitis, what do  _you_ think?"

Toris blinks.

There it is. The opportunity he's been waiting for.

All he has to do is dislodge the thoughts free from his mouth. But somehow... the words stay stuck in his throat.

Suddenly, the confidence he'd had in his thoughts falls to the bottom of the world.

What if he's being irrational?

What if he's being too  _selfish?_

Standing here, burdening the crown prince like this— what gives him the right?

He almost wants to say no.

…

But Toris knows Sir Lukas and the crown prince. He knows how deadly Sir Lukas can be with a weapon. And he never forgot the crown prince's earnest problem of protection.

Kindness like this, he remembers, only comes around once in a lifetime.

He'll be damned if he wastes it. Because, regardless of all the feelings of cowardice… he needs it.

He didn't take back his life just to put it in the hands of a stranger.

Toris takes a deep breath.

"...I only want to do what would inconvenience Sir Beilschmidt the least," he says quietly.

The words shimmer in the air. Their tension is so palpable that he could cut them with his knife. He almost wants to cut himself, to be honest.

But they're there.

"Huh," the crown prince says.

It's brief, but Toris swears he sees a small smile at the corner of the crown prince's mouth.

"Okay!" The crown prince says cheerily. Smiling at Sir Beilschmidt, he wraps a hand around Toris's forearm and draws him close. The smell of his perfume is even stronger than before. "It's decided. Thanks for everything, Beilschmidt. Come on, Laurinaitis, let's go."

_It's happening._

He can't help it. The feeling of relief that spreads through his chest, relieving the anxiety better than any remedy he's ever tried before.

_It worked._

Sir Beilschmidt's eyes widen and flick back and forth between the crown prince and Toris.

When he speaks, his voice is strained. "Your Highness — there's gotta be another way," Sir Gilbert Beilschmidt insists. "Really, I—"

"I'm taking Laurinaitis," the crown prince says calmly.

"But the security—"

" _I'm taking Laurinaitis to the market._ " Sir Beilschmidt opens his mouth to speak again, but the crown prince holds up his other hand. "And there's nothing you can do about. So you can like, go back to your post now. Okay, Beilschmidt?" The crown prince smiles pleasantly. "Thanks!"

"Laurinaitis," Sir Beilschmidt says, "you really aren't—"

Before he can finish his sentence, the crown prince whisks them around, and Toris waves a polite goodbye.

Arm in arm, they walk through the kitchen and enter into the dimly lit stone hallway that leads to the rest of the castle. It's cool and refreshing, and Toris can't help it — he takes several deep breaths, like his lungs have never known air before.

They walk together a few feet without saying anything. Toris has to sort out the squirming nervousness in his stomach and his chest before he can string a competent sentence together.

"Thank you, your Highness," he says softly when they're almost at the end of the hallway.

He hopes the crown prince can feel the gratitude in his words.

The crown prince falters while walking. Toris dares to sneak a glance at him, and a strange sensation runs through him when he realizes that the prince is blushing.

The crown prince quickly regains his composure, however. He clears his throat. Looks at Toris.

"You're welcome," he says.

He pauses for a moment.

"Now let's go get some pączki," he says with a small smile.

Toris smiles, too.

With that, they step out into the sunlit main hallway and head out to the market.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! It's ya girl NC, finally here with the first chapter of Knight Unexpected! Yay!
> 
> I can't express how happy I am to have finally written this and to be able to get on with the story proper! I can promise you all that from now on, things will be very, very interesting! :^D
> 
> Summer is here now, so I'm going to try really, really hard to get a regular update schedule for this fic. I'm aiming for a weekly / bi-weekly update on Sunday, so we'll see. uwu I'm aiming to get at least halfway through this story at the end of the year. Hopefully I'll be able to make it happen!
> 
> I don't really have much to say this time, ahaha. I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I'm trying to cut down a lot of the internal monologue from my writing style, and so far I think it's been working really well, both for my motivation and for the story itself. What do you guys think? Leave a review or shoot me an ask on tumblr with your thoughts, both good and bad!
> 
> Anyways, that's it for now. So long, and I'll see you all next time~!
> 
> \- NC
> 
> Tumblr: actualninjacat
> 
> Tumblr tag: fic: knight unexpected
> 
> fanfiction.net: marcorooni

**Author's Note:**

> Wow wow wow, where do I even begin with this? So much has changed since my first draft of this story and the current version!
> 
> Alright. Right now, I'm gonna get into the differences between the two. So! For those of you have not read the first version of Knight Unexpected, and for those of you who read it but forgot what happened, I'll give you a quick recap. Essentially, Toris was a "knight" for Ivan. Ivan assigned Toris to kidnap Feliks, who was the crown prince of Liathea, in order to gather the great amount of ransom money that the king and queen would surely pay for their son's return. After kidnapping Feliks, Toris was supposed to travel with Gilbert down to Ivan's hideout, where they would hold the prince until paying the ransom money. However, Mathias and Sigurd, two royal guards from the Liathean royal family, intercepted them and essentially ruined their chances of making a clean escape. After incapacitating the guards, Toris and Gilbert made the decision to split up to throw the royal guards off their trail. Toris would go north with Feliks, and Gilbert would go south by himself. So Toris set off with just himself and Feliks.
> 
> In concept, the story sounded good. I thought it was plenty dramatic and had a lot of room for character development between Toris and Feliks (aka: there would be a lot of fun LietPol action). But in reality… I realized that yes, there would be a lot of room for fun LietPol action. But there would be little else that Toris could do. In reality, Toris would have little room for development because he would only be talking to Feliks and ... himself. The same applied to Feliks. The two were closed off from the diverse array of character interactions that make reading a story and fanfiction in general fun. And I thought that was incredibly boring to both write and read. Because really — it would be wasting all of the great potential that these characters have.
> 
> So! For this version, I've decided to change up the plot a lot. I won't give out any spoilers — you'll have to read for yourself if you want to find out what happens to our favorite fantasy Lithuanian knight ;) — but I can assure you that there will be a much wider range of characters and therefore much more development. The world of Knight Unexpected has expanded considerably. I have a whole slew of side characters with different character arcs planned out, and let me tell you … with these guys, things are gonna get pretty interesting!
> 
> "But NC!" You say. "How often are you going to update these interesting peoples' lives?!" And that is a very good question.
> 
> Right now, I have the first five chapters (counting the prologue) of Knight Unexpected complete. I'm going to post a chapter every week either on early Saturday afternoon CST. After five weeks pass, I'll see how I feel about how the story is going. If the story is going well, I'll continue with the writing and editing a chapter every week schedule. If I need time to think things through, I'll take a month break to write and see where things go from there.
> 
> Either way, I intend on seeing this story through to the end. This story has been my brain child for three years, and it deserves to be told.
> 
> Before I end this Author's Note, I'd like to take a moment to ask if you would be so kind enough as to leave a comment telling me what you thought about this chapter. Give me your questions, your comments, your concerns — what you liked, what you disliked, what you were neutral on. For those of you who read the prior draft — do you like this version better? Have I improved myself as a writer? :0
> 
> Remember — critique is very much encouraged and appreciated is here. ^u^
> 
> Anyways, thank you all so much for reading this chapter and this Author's Note! Thank you for all your support, and I'll see you next time~
> 
> \- NC
> 
> Tumblr: actualninjacat (feel free to hit me up here!)
> 
> Tumblr tag: fic: knight unexpected
> 
> fanfiction.net: marcorooni (I've uploaded Knight Unexpected here, too!)


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